Between the pages
by playedintune
Summary: Collection of drabbles, one-shots, missing moments... mainly written for the Golden Snitch forum. Recently: 36. if anyone could succeed, it was him (CharlieTonks) 37. several scented candles had been lighted in the Ravenclaw common room (Padma Parvati) 38. The Marauders celebrate Diwali 39. Oliver meets a unicorn; it's tall, majestic, and… better than Quidditch. Wait, what?
1. Missing Fred

**Disclaimer: all the rights belong to JKR**

 **Cockroach Clusters: "I hope you find someone who knows how to love you when you are sad." (Golden Snitch forum)**

 **It fell (QP, Hogwarts Houses Challenges)**

 **"Shit..." (DC, Hogwarts Houses Challenges)**

* * *

 _ **George thinks only Fred knows how to reach him when he's sad. Turns out he may be wrong.**_

* * *

Fred cursed himself the moment he saw his brother like that. George sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, his head hooded and pressed to his knees.

"You don't have to lock yourself in this room when you're sad, you know?" Fred sadly said. "Once a prankster, always a prankster; I get it. But it's okay. If you're sad… you can cry."

George's head snapped as he looked at his twin in disbelief. He didn't wonder, he didn't ask what he was doing there, he didn't question him at all. He just stared at his brother and ordered him to shut up, his voice cooler and angrier than he meant, but Fred understood. He always did. That's why it was so easier to let him in when George was upset or hurt or scared. Fred just knew how to love him even in those dark times. Fred was the only one allowed to comfort him.

"Please, George. It's not healthy. You must allow someone to see your pain so that you can heal."

"What if I don't want to? Plus, you're seeing me. You were always there, seeing me. I don't need anyone else."

"Yeah, well. I don't really count anymore, though."

There it was. The unwanted, tragic reminder that Fred was d… gone. And George, for the first time, couldn't follow him.

Fred went on, "But I still think—"

"Don't you dare, Fred. Don't you dare try to tell what I should do. It's not up to you," George snapped. "Just… leave me alone, ok? Please?" He couldn't speak about it because he was not ready to accept it, to let him go for good.

Fred gathered him into his arms without saying a word, waiting for George to calm down and stop to struggle against his embrace.

"Are you ready to go?" Fred whispered in his ear.

"To your funeral?" George was almost sure he had gone completely mad by now. Once more, he looked up at his brother who didn't fail to notice the single tear hanging in George's eyelashes.

It fell.

Before Fred could say or do anything, it simply fell.

"Shit..." George said.

Fred gently squeezed him.

Neither of them was ready to say goodbye.

* * *

 _2 years later_

George stared at the grave. He didn't cry because really, he couldn't; not with Angelina so close to him.

"Go ahead," she softly said. "I know you don't like it when they see you when you're sad, but I don't… I don't think I matter."

He gasped. He didn't want for her to feel like she didn't matter, because she did. So much.

She smiled at his expression and quickly reassured him. "What I meant is, I don't matter because I can see you soul just as well as you can see mine, and my heart understands yours."

It was when George understood. "I love you, Angelina."

"I know, yes. Love you too."

She didn't count in the same way Fred didn't count. Because they both loved him. And it worked. It was enough.


	2. In Benjy Fenwick's memory

**Disclaimer: all the rights belong to JK Rowling. The quote at the beginning is by E. Montale**

 **Hogwarts Houses Challenges: QP - She had seen it all / DC - dog.**

 **Golden Snitch: All Saints and all Souls Day - Benjy Fenwick**

 **The female character, Benjy's wife, is purposefully nameless. I don't know if she may be a canon character or not as unfortunately we don't know anything about Benjy apart from the horrible way he died.**

 **Warning: character death**

 **Word count: 984**

* * *

 ** _I descended, with you on my arm, at least a million stairs_**

 ** _and now that you are not here, every step is emptiness._**

 ** _In any case our long journey was too brief._**

* * *

"Ma'am," was the greeting she received when she opened the door and was met with the unexpected sight of two men in Auror uniforms, a suspiciously grieving look in their eyes. She didn't understand what they were doing here since Benjy had to come home yet, and they couldn't possibly want to talk to her, right?

"We…" The man shifted uncomfortably. "We regret to inform you—" his partner started saying.

Ah, the feared words that made her go dumb once again before they really hit through. _Benjy was chosen for another urgent mission and he would not come home tonight_ , her mind provided her. _How long will it be?_ was the question that did not have the right to exist as he would find his way to her again like he had always done before no matter how long it would take him.

But then, she had seen it all already; it had happened other times. She hated being notified about Benjy's missions like that but sometimes it couldn't be helped. She understood it.

Every word, thought, move, breath, step she had taken—and was going to take—when he was not there twirled in her mind.

The next days would be hard but she could make it as long as she knew he would come home.

Sure, she would always see him. Each moment would remind her of him as it usually happened, but this was what war was about.

She would twist and turn in her—their—bed and discover he was not actually there despite her being so sure she had felt his breath and spotted his form under the covers. She would think that maybe far and far away, somewhere, he was thinking of her too, struggling to get back. She would feel guilty for being so desperately useless when he might be in danger. She would see the dark circles and bags under her eyes, knowing that his presence could always make her sleep quietly but she had not been holding her through the night. She would have breakfast without arguing with him whether coffee was better than tea and she would miss it despite not being willing to admit it. She would go to the bathroom ready to knock on door and tell him to hurry up because she needed it too. She would go out and be worried that the dog could escape because there was not Benjy to prevent it from escape. She would… She would miss him in endless ways. Yet listing them seemed somehow relieving.

She had been through all of this before and had made it once, she could do it once more until he would return, and she would fall in love with him all over again and be loved in return.

But that didn't prevent her from missing him. Terribly. Painfully. Achingly. How could it ever be better?

She would miss him going downstairs arm in arm with him but she could wait. As long as she knew he was coming home.

She didn't even have to know where he had been when he was safely home, but sometimes when she was alone she couldn't help but wonder, When I happen to miss you, when I happen to listen to the silence and wish that it's because you're just reading in another room and because you're not here, where are you?

"—that your husband walked into an ambush. He—Ma'am? Ma'am?" a voice called out.

She blinked without understanding. He was on a mission, right? Right? She couldn't have thought all those things so quickly. She couldn't have made them up.

"He… was beyond help. He—" the man seemed about to say something more but he just stopped, looking lost.

She really didn't need to know where he had been once he was home. She really did not.

.

The question she had managed to repress when she knew he would come back exploded violently in her mind, haunting her at every step.

 _Where are you?_

 _When I open my eyes hoping you'll be by my side, when I need to cuddle, where are you? Where are you? When the sun shines, when it rains, where are you? When there is nothing but emptiness around me, when the wind brings me hollow promises along with familiar scents, where are you? When I'm crying and yelling and breaking everything I can reach, where are you? Why don't you come and stop me?_

 _Can you see me wherever you are?_

 _Do you miss me as much as I do?_

She didn't want to know the answer to the last question. She feared it.

And she still missed him at every step, missed his strong, caring arm. Walking, keeping going without him hurt too much.

.

She had tried to leave the house where she had lived with Benjy—it was not home anymore—but she had realized there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape. She would not be home ever again because _he_ was her home, and it would be unrespectful to him and his memory to just leave their past behind.

Taking the wrong turn or stopping walking at all just because he was not there was not the right solution. But keeping walking was. Even if she would stumble at every step. Even if the road was harder and more slippery and scaring.

She had to make sure his memory would not fade. She would talk about him, show pictures of him, and tell to whoever may be willing to listen about his kindness, courage, humility, ability to love; his golden heart and warm, comforting smile.

 _I will do this for you, to feel you close. But you stay with me and give me strength. Lead me. I'll keep walking, but you show me which path will bring us together again._

Her journey could just bring her closer to him. Their path could be cross again. Each step she'd take would be for him.


	3. Dudley and Diwali festival

**Hogwarts Houses Challenges: QP - trust me, you don't wanna know. / DC - awe  
**

 **Golden Snitch: Diwali.**

 **Word count: 1180**

* * *

 _ **Dudley is struggling with his marriage when an overheard conversation leads him to an unexpected source of comfort: a library. He had some doubts, but now he is sure: he's coming home.  
**_

* * *

Starting over is hard, and Dudley—having horribly mistreated a cousin, bullied innocent people, and about to divorce among the rest—knows a thing or two about it. But sometimes getting back on your feet is just harder; if you have nowhere to go, what's the point of getting up?

The break-up has been actually quite bad—it's the only thing he remembers—and she kicked him out. Not that he cares to recall how things actually went. He knows fights between lovers always go like that; after the fire went out, flames are forgotten, but some cold ash remains as a bitter reminder that it was not what was supposed to happen.

Now he's wandering—and shivering, but he chooses to ignore that part—trying to figure out what he should do. Coming back? Or getting as far as possible from here?

He looks at the other bystanders; some are walking slowly, some quickly, some simply stand.

Shined shoes, worn out shoes, colorful sneakers, black boots… He sees it all and wonders where they come from and most importantly where they are going.

Bits and pieces of random conversations reach him as the wind whips his reddening face once again. All sort of idioms and accents reach his ears; he has never realized how many strangers there are in London.

"—trust me, you don't wanna know—"

"—forse era proprio lui—"

"—kids are crazy about those—"

"—you're in love with—"

"—tu es très belle, mais—"

He really didn't mind and just kept walking until—

"All right then. I'll see you on Halloween," someone says.

"Actually, it's _Diwali_ ," another voice replies.

 _Diwali?_ As much as he'd like to know more, the owners of those voices have already disappeared, swallowed by the crowd. He glances at his phone: the battery just died. _Darn!_ So the only place to go is the library. It'll be the first time he steps in.

.

As soon as he enters, he feels uncomfortable; he smells old parchment as well as mold, and the silence is suffocating. The light in the halls is dim.

He's not sure he belongs there.

Maybe he should just forget everything.

But the curiosity is killing him.

He looks around lost and starts walking through the aisles.

Of course he doesn't find anything. Especially because he's not really looking for anything. The only hint he has is a word, _diwali_. And it sounded like it was somehow a synonym for Halloween? Perhaps?

He's so lost in his own thoughts that runs into a person without even noticing. It's only when he hears someone murmuring an apology that he blinks and focus on what, or rather who, is standing in front of him: a young Indian girl, with a tag. It says 'Dipali'.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

"N-no, no, it's o-ok," Dudley answers, unable to say anything else.

 _Dipali. Diwali. May be. May be not._

"Excuse me," he calls out when the girl is walking away. "I hope you can help me. I-I came here looking for something called… _Diwali_?" He can't understand why he sounds so unsure.

 _Dipali. What if she thinks I'm just trying to moke her?_

In spite of his fear and concerns, her face brightens up, and she smiles.

"Oh, sure. I can tell you everything about it," she says.

"Oh, please, I don't want to bother you. I can just—"

"It'll be a pleasure, believe me. It's my favorite festival!"

"Thank you."

"Here, let's sit.. As I mentioned, _Diwali_ is the Hindu festival of lights and is actually India's biggest holiday. We celebrate it on a New Moon sometime in the months of October and November, but the exact day may vary depending on the Hindu Calendar. The proper name would be _Deepavali_ , which means 'lines of light', but it's gotten shortened to _Diwali_ through the years. There are legends that explain the origin of this festival but I won't bore you with—"

"Please," Dudley says before he even knows what he's doing. "I'd like to know."

The smile he receives is enough to tell him it was the right choice. "Ok. Long story short, the Hindu legend tells _Diwali_ commemorates Lord Rama's return with his wife after defeating Raavana who had abucted her. His people lighted candles and diya's to celebrate him. And it's precisely the lines of diya's that gave the name to the holidays. According to the other legend, it was Pandavs' return they were first celebrating. The Sikhs celebrate this day to mark the day of freedom or the day when their _Guru_ got free from the jail. The Jains celebrate this day as they believe that Lord Mahavira attained enlightenment on this day, and—"

Dudley is trying his best to understand it all but…

"I'm sorry," she says blushing. "It's confusing, I know."

"No, it's only me. I'm hopeless at geography and history and well… I fear I'm just a poor alumnus, that's it."

"It's ok. I don't expect you—or anyone—to get it all. The main important thing you must remember about _Diwali_ is that it's about returning home and overcoming darkness and defeating evil. That's it, I promise. Now, about celebration itself… it's a five-day festival, the third day being _Diwali_ itself.

"The first day is called _Dhanteras_ — _Dhan_ means 'richness'. Houses are decorated and gotten ready for the Goddess of Prosperity is coming. Buying something gold bodes well.

"The second day is _Nakra-Chaturdashi_ —"

Dudley is in awe at her enthusiasm, but he's also ashamed to admit even to himself that he's lost again in this explanation. He can only hope she won't notice which apparently she doesn't.

"—why the fourth day represents marital love and devotion. I'm touched whenever I think of it. I mean, Krishna actually moved a mountain for Gokul."

That's what hits him. _Marital love_.

"Finally, the fifth day is _Bhayya-Duj_ which symbolizes the bond between siblings. The last two days are my favorite. My brother always comes and visits me bringing wonderful presents. He's so nice," she basically chirps.

"And… when did you tell this festival is celebrated?"

" _Diwali_ is going to be in five days this year."

"This means that—" he tries to remember the day name but can't recall it at all. He frowns. "—the day. That day when you celebrate marital love—"

" _Padwa_ , yes. It's going to be in six days."

"Ooh."

She looks at him almost knowingly, and he decides this is the right moment to take his leave. He just knows she won't think he's being rude.

"Thank you so much," he looks at the tag once more, "Dipali. You were great and actually helped me a lot. Now if you excuse me, I have a wife to win back." The smile that touch his lips is hopeful and bright and genuine. "And maybe, who knows, a cousin to call."


	4. The doll (unrequited Snily)

**Written for Golden Snitch, Anything from the trolley - Skeletal Sweets: "You don't stop loving someone just because you hate them."**

 **Warning: voodoo witchcraft (sort of), darkness, character death, AU  
**

* * *

 **If Severus had known, he would have stopped as he still cared about her in his own twisted way. But Lily had chosen another man over him, and he didn't stop.**

* * *

 _All that's left is ash._

He had always adored her and by extension, that lovely doll that resembled her so much: those green emerald eyes, that cream-colored skin, that flaming red hair.

 _All that's left is gray ash._

He cared about the doll just as much as he cared about the girl. None would ever think of him as sweet, but he could be; little things that had made Lily glimpse the kind of man that Severus was inside; like opening the door for her, helping her get her jacket on. Simple, tiny things, actually. But Lily knew it was his way to say _I love you_.

 _All that's left is bitter ash._

Yet she had chosen another, that Potter. Bitterness had overwhelmed Severus then. The doll had paid the price since Lily was not there. He didn't like what she had done to him, to the only man who had ever truly helped and loved her. Who still loved her. Therefore, he merely watched as the fire was eating the beautiful doll, which was his only regret until he read the news on Lily's death on the newspaper. The doll was no more either, it - she - couldn't be saved.

 _My Lily, my only love, I could have stopped it. If only I had known…_

* * *

 _You don't stop loving someone just because you hate them._


	5. You-know-who died? (Bellatrix)

They had come treacherously, their robes darker than that starless night, their wands drawn and flashing, and their annoying voices bringing unwanted news.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead," the Aurors had kept shouting confidently—as if it was something worth celebrating—striking terror into the hearts of her fellow Death Eaters, and making her own—which she still wasn't sure she had—clench.

 _Liars, filthy liars_ , she remembered thinking before bursting out laughing and muttering lethal, bitter spells, her aim true, to punish anybody who dared slander her Lord like that.

 _Liars._

 _Liars._

 _Liars._

And that thought didn't leave her. Not even now that she was freezing in a dark cell inside Azkaban, the Dementors trying to force her into submission.

As if…

The game had changed around her, but she was good at adapting to it. She might not be the one causing pain and terror anymore but was still the one enjoying them beyond anything else, no matter the source.

And hearing the other prisoners' screams sounded like music to her.

It kept her… insane enough to be ready for His return.

 _If only they were filthy Mudblood, their screaming would be much more entertaining._


	6. Parallels (Andromeda)

_**Parallels**_

Andromeda knew Remus was well aware of her cautious eyes fixed on him, searching, scrutinizing, peering, while he kept talking to Ted trying his best to make a good impression. Not on Ted, no, not really; although her husband was protective of Nymphadora like any father and maybe even more than he should, Andromeda felt Remus actually looked for her own approval, subtly glancing over his shoulder to capture her eyes—which she hoped didn't give away anything—from time to time.

She of course had noticed it right away but said nothing. She just continued her examination. It was not that she didn't like him, but her daughter could do better than an old werewolf. But then, herself could have done better if the Blacks were to be trusted, so she couldn't really complain.

Nymphadora was doing what she had been taught. And they had to be proud of her, they _were_ proud of her.

The parallel in her and Dora's lives amazed her as she knew exactly what her daughter had been thinking when she had chosen to risk everything, her family included, just to marry the man she loved.

Feeling her daughter's expecting gaze—Andromeda idly wondered if her approval really mattered that much—she lifted her eyes from Remus to Ted, who winked at her, to Nymphadora, and caressing that bright pink hair, she sincerely said, "I know you'll be happy together." Andromeda had no regrets, after all.


	7. Blood (Evan Rosier)

**Warning: mention of death and wounds and blood.  
**

* * *

 _Duck. Parry. Kill._

 _Run._

 _Duck._

 _Kill._

 _Kill._

 _Run._

 _Kill. Kill. KILL._

Everything was fast and confused—battle cries mixing with cries of desperation, the smoke hurting his eyes and throat—but even with the scenario constantly changing in front of his eyes, he kept moving to be less of a target while a jet of familiar and reassuring green light issued from his wand.

The smell of blood coming from his own wounds that he hadn't been able to heal only made Evan's nostrils flare and kept him going as the battle raged, his eyes narrowing to scan the darkness.

He was glad the Aurors had decided to invade the Death Eater's camp by night. He couldn't stand fighting in the daylight; for one, he hated the sun for shining on the Mudbloods despite his best efforts to convince it otherwise. Secondly, the darkness had always been his best ally: it didn't speak yet it let the screams come through, it was blind but hid him, it was odourless yet it brought out the smell of fear, it was black yet he could paint on it like on a canvas.

 _Duck._

 _Run._

 _Kill._

Bodies kept falling on the ground because of him.

 _Kill. Kill._

Even if he couldn't help the rush of pride in his veins everytime a lifeless body fell on the ground because of him, he couldn't help but think that the Aurors were a huge disappointment after all. They'd been fighting for hours and he had yet to find someone who was good enough for him.

Licking his own blood and letting the coppery taste reinvigorate him, he just kept killing, descending upon his enemies as silent, swift and unstoppable as Death itself, begging the darkness to face him with someone worth his time. He truly wanted to use other curses than the Killing one, and a duel sounded appealing.


	8. It burns (Barty Crouch Jr)

**It burns**

I put the the flask down for the umpteenth time wiping my lips on my sleeve to hide my growing smirk at Potter's disappearance; to hide the fact that I'm ready to celebrate.

I'm extremely proud of me, and they'll all learn soon enough that I'm never wrong.

The maze seems to howl.

My laugh can barely be refrained as my skin tickles in expectation.

 _Fool boys!_ They wished to share the win. They won't have anything but death.

I wait.

Patiently.

Then, the pain. Sharp, burning, craved, needed, welcomed pain. Finally!

They thought they would be going to celebrate, but I'll be the only one who will because today, _today_ the Dark Lord's back, and it's all due to me.


	9. Breakout (EmmelineSirius)

_**Escape from Azkaban.**_

 _ **Have you seen this wizard?**_

 _ **Sirius Black escapes.**_

 _ **Mass murderer Sirius Black.**_

The Daily Prophet words mocked her, hurt her, remembering her of her biggest disappointment and her biggest loss; the man she had loved more than anyone else.

"My Sirius," Emmeline whispered.

That person, that man she had loved and given herself to didn't exist, had never existed at all.

It had been just an act.

 ** _Mass murderer. Traitor._**

This had killed her young self, her childhood, her trust; her heart had aged in a way she hadn't even believed possible. Her white hair, her wrinkles were nothing if someone could have seen her soul.

Yet he was still _her Sirius_.

And he was free.

She clearly was not.


	10. Prince Charming & Nargles (LysanderLily)

**Kid!fic**

* * *

 **Prince Charming and Nargles**

An excited voice calling "Lysander!" was the only warning he got before Lily jumped on him hugging him from behind and making him lose his balance.

"Lysander, I'm so glad you're here! Can we play together? Everyone else is doing male stuff, even Rose, and it's soooo boring! I don't want to kill people!"

Lysander smiled at her little pout in understanding. That's why he had grabbed a book and come in the garden. "Alright, what do you want to do?"

"How about I'm a Princess and you're my Prince Charming? Rose says there is no such a thing as Prince Charming but I know she is wrong. Isn't she, Lys?"

"Of course she is. Prince Charming, Nargles, Wrackspurts... everything exist if you believe it," Lysander said remembering his mum's lessons. "And you know what, I'm willing to be your Prince Charming-"

A moment later, he found himself on the ground with Lily's soft weight on his chest as she kissed him on his cheek. He decided not to add "-for today" as he had originally thought. Having Lily in his arms felt right.


	11. No ice sisters (Daphne G)

**Just sisterly love. No slash or incest.**

* * *

Unbeknownst to anyone, the Greengrass sisters had always been there for each other. But showing affection would be unbecoming for any proper young lady, so they had kept it a secret. A silent shoulder, a soothing caress, a quiet clapping in the rear, a willing ear in the darkness, away from prying eyes that could stain their relationship, away from Pansy whose attitude Astoria didn't need to endure. Daphne was enough to keep the Greengrass family's connections with the Parkinsons on _friendly_ —as friendly as Slytherins could get, anyway—terms.

Today, though, _today_ Daphne's cheers were neither quiet nor reserved as she watched her little sister getting married to Draco, knowing that her display would mean to Astoria more than anything else, even more than the applause coming from the rest of the crowd.

It meant the _I love you_ _, sister_ Daphne had never been able to say despite her best efforts. It meant _I'm happy as long as you are, just as always. Nothing's changed between you and me and will never change._

It meant _We are the best of sisters_.


	12. Broken (Andromeda)

_Summary: something inside her had stopped working, but she knew she couldn't give up. Teddy's mood depended on her smile._

* * *

Tears had just kept coming and going for a while after their deaths, until Andromeda had realized how much her mood affected her beloved grandson's. Dealing with him hadn't been that hard then. She had just needed to remember from Nymphadora's childhood—which she found unbearable and had removed in her pain—that as long as her hair was bright and sunny, everything was right, but when they got darker and ashy, she felt sad or uncomfortable or ill.

Teddy was the same, she discovered. And it didn't take long for her to notice that more often than not, a smile of hers was enough to bring the brightness and the colors back into Teddy's hair that the pain had made opaque and gray.

She could it. She was born into a Pureblood family and raised as the perfect Lady, after all, and as such, she had quickly learnt to wear a mask that would make her impenetrable. With the contempt plastered on her face, she would show up, her gaze indifferent and distant. It had proven to be more useful than she had originally thought, and she had used it against them when she had fallen in love with Ted. It hadn't mattered where the conversation lead, what insults and punishments she had to endure from her family, she had made it out eventually. The secret was to make yourself indecipherable and impenetrable, no matter how much your surroundings could haunt you.

The pain claimed her once again, high-handedly and treacherously, and she knew something had changed; something had stopped working inside her.

The love and happiness source she had always dipped into to go on and forget about all the bigotry around her—that source seemed suddenly dried and unavailable.

She leaned over her grandson's crib to find the strength she so desperately needed to go on. He was sleeping wrapped up in a blue cover; only his head poked out. With his purple hair, he really looked like Nymphadora.

She was so young.

So in love.

So brave.

Her only child. Her beloved daughter.

A part of her lived in Teddy. And it was just for him, for her grandson, that she was resuming her hidden past. Just to be able to clean her face from the sadness and betrayal, and replace them with all the fake joy she could convey, plastering a smile on her face until her facial muscles would obey her.

It seemed so easy, so good. So right even. Yet all she wanted do was lie down, avoid to struggle against her physical, old—too old—body.

 _Broken_ , she thought to herself. _But it's ok, it doesn't matter_ , she reassured himself as she forced herself to get up, hearing Teddy crying.

She heavily stood up, put her slippers on, and wrapped herself in her warm robe before heading towards Teddy's crib, smiling, and finally turning the light on.

 ** _No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, show up, and never give up._**

She was rewarded with his grandson's electric blue hair.

Her smile suddenly felt a bit truer.

* * *

 _Golden Snitch Forum, prompt: (quote) No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, show up, and never give up._

 _511 words_


	13. Like a nundu (Dramione, AU)

**Summary: Dramione, AU. He was her nundu, whose breath would finally kill her, even if he loved her so much.**

* * *

 **Like a nundu**

.

Draco was sure there was something about it, about men corrupting or damaging or even killing the person they loved. He remembered reading about creatures able to kill by merely touching their prey.

He frantically poked into his memory while he thought of her, who he had foolishly doomed with his love. He would need her now, and her ability to recite every and each book she had ever read.

 _Hermione._

At dawn she would die. And here was he trying to collect some old, useless notion about who knows what beast.

 _She'd know._

Maybe it was not a beast, after all. Maybe it was some kind of flower that you can't touch, for if you did, you'd sentence it to wither and die. He really should have paid more attention in Herbology.

But such a flower existed, didn't it?

It'd smell like Hermione's scent when he kissed her. That he knew for sure.

And how you can you love something—someone—and refrain yourself from touching it—her? How could they love you and tell you you can't touch them?

You can't.

They can't.

 _She_ can't.

That's why his best memory would always been her head in his lap while he softly caressed her bushy hair.

He still needed to know, and she was not here.

* * *

 _"Harry Potter's dead," Lord Voldemort said._

It had begun like that.

 _"And the victory is mine!"_

Everyone had rejoiced. Everyone but Draco who had a secret girlfriend to think of. A Muggle-born girlfriend whom, he feared, he could not be able to protect for long.

* * *

 _"Mother how is it to be in love?" Draco asked._

 _He saw her sigh. "Everything is brighter. Happiness seems to blossom in you at every moment. And when you look at him—well, her, I guess..." She looked at him. "I'm assuming it's a girl. Pansy maybe?"  
_

 _"Err, no, definitely not Pansy."_

 _She looked suspicious be said nothing before resuming, "When you look at her and she looks at you shivers may run down your spine. You keep thinking of her..."_

 _Draco nodded when his mother hesitated, prompting her to continue._

 _"Sorry, Draco. I have to ask. Who is she?"_

 _"If I tell you," Draco deeply inhaled. "When I tell you, you must promise you won't tell anyone, especially father. You know, it's... it's Granger."_

 _"The Mud_ _—Muggle-born?"_

 _At least, she had corrected herself. It was the best promise Draco knew he could get. That, and the concerned, loving look in her eyes. He was glad Narcissa was his mother. She would do anything for him. Even lie to her husband.  
_

 _"Should I tell her?" he asked, insecure._

 _"Son, the time is not right. It would greatly endanger you, the both of you, but it's you I'm concerned about. You must protect yourself. With Voldemort winning, straying from your path is not... recommended. If you love her, you'll have to let her go. This relationship will only bring death. Not only will she be killed for being a Muggle-born_ _—that may be going to happen anyway_ _—but she will need to be punished for poisoning the mind of a Pureblood scion." She softly caressed his hair.  
_

* * *

For the first time he could remember, he had not followed his mother's wise words, and he had been selfish, deciding that a few months, weeks, days—whatever the fate would give them—would make him happy.

And he had been happy, indeed.

They had both been happy.

Until they had found them.

Tomorrow she'd die.

Because of him.

 _Nundu_ , he thought. _Of course._ ' _The breath of the Nundu is toxic and filled with disease. This alone can wipe out entire villages of people.' That's the creature.  
_

But he had not breathed on her.

He had merely loved her.

* * *

 **For each man kills the thing he loves.**

* * *

 **A/N I hope you enjoyed.**

 **Written for the "Prompt of the Day Competition" on the Golden Snitch forum. Prompt: (quote) for each man kills the thing he loves.**

 **Word count: 659**


	14. Deciphering Snape's message (the Order)

Summary: Snape sends a weird message to the Order and they try to decipher it.

* * *

"He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden," Potter had said.

Snape already knew as the brat had clearly not worked on his Occlumency, and his thoughts about Black had been as loud as possible. Unfortunately, there was no telling whether this last vision might be true or not. At least the boy had tried to be as subtle as a Gryffindor could be. The fact that it may not have been enough was not Snape's concern now.

"Or else the birds will crawl into the vodka!" he enunciated as the familiar deer erupted from his wand. As his Patronus flew away, he let himself rest for some time, waiting to see if and which one of his Masters would summon him. He felt he had done more than enough for Potter and his mutt though. As long as the members of the Order could decipher his message.

But really, what was he expected to do? He could not risk the Patronus being overheard. He was just trying to protect the Order existence.

Dumbledore would understand for sure.

Snape sighed and waved his wand another time to prepare himself some tea.

.

"Or else the birds will crawl into the vodka!"

That was Snape's voice, and that was his Patronus. They matched up. But all the recognizable ended there.

Confusion and obliviousness were clearly written on each member's face. Moody's eyes rotated.

There were just so many ways that could be interpretated.

They looked at each other but none seemed to have the answer.

Rearranging the letters seemed to be above their ability and availability of time even if someone did grab quill and parchment, their foreheads wrinkled, their shoulders tensed.

Moody immediately started focusing on numbers. How many numbers there were in the whole sentence, in one word; which letter corresponded to which number. He may not have heard that line but it felt familiar; the rhythm felt known.

"2-4-3-5-4-5-4-3-5," he muttered as his magical eye informed him everyone else in the room had gone crazy about that riddle.

There was no symmetry but it couldn't be just a case that there were only four numbers and three of them were repeated over and over, as if it was really important. As if to say, _Whatever I'm trying to tell, you should be considering carefully. Matter of life and death._

"Tonks," he shouted. "Get me that book about Alchemy and Numbers."

The young Auror was quickly to obey as she was really eager to leave the suffocating tension that filled the room even if for just a moment.

As soon as the heavy book was in front of him, Moody skimmed through its pages expertly until he found what he needed—or thought he needed at least.

"Etcetera, etcetera," he said from time to time, scribbling down the numbers and their meanings on a piece of parchment.

He looked at them for a while.

 _2 - child or orphan_

 _3 - foreign, seeking_

 _4 - developer or prisoner_

 _5 - wander_

Until... it all clicked.

"I think I got it. Quickly! Everyone get their wands. Potter left Hogwarts and is in danger!"

* * *

 **A/N Written for the Golden Snitch fanfic forum. Prompt:** **"Or else the birds will crawl into the vodka!" Word count: 536**

 **I really didn't know how to use that prompt so I searched for a pattern, something that helped me use it (basically, Moody is me), then I found this site where the menings of the numbers where explained, and it sort of fit into this moment; the "child/orphan" being Harry, the "seeking foreign" pointing to the Prophecy, the "prisoner" being Sirius, and the "wander" meaning "wandering off." It may be a bit strained but oh well! ;)**


	15. Skiving Sweets (Fred George Percy)

Summary: the twins "convince" Percy to try one of their Skiving Sweets.

* * *

George came triumphantly towards his twin who was carefully eyeing a bubbling cauldron. "I've got it! I've got the last ingredient!"

"Good," Fred said. "It was very nice of Ginny to let us use her vomit."

George wrinkled his nose but nodded approvingly. "If it works, we'll find a way to thank her."

"Yes. Well, do the honors."

Reverently, George opened the vial and poured its content into the cauldron, watching as the potions slowly turned purple then brownish. He stirred clockwise three times and put out the fire.

Fred peeked at the potion. "Looks like we made it."

George carefully dipped a pastry in it and put it on the table. Then he turned to his twin and smiled widely saying, "We have half of a–"

"–Skiving Sweet!"

"Exactly! This'll make people sick. Hey," George suddenly said, a strange flash entering his eyes.

"I approve!" Fred answered not even needing his brother to finish the sentence. "I'd love to see Mr. The-Minister-and-I-are-always-right try it."

"Let's do it! Now hand me that orange vial–No, the one beside that. Yes, that one."

George poured the content on the pastry that turned yellow and tempting. "That should do the trick." He said removing his protective gloves and glasses as Fred did the same.

.

"Perce," they called, winking at each other. "PERCE!"

An annoyed Percy stomped towards them, "What do you want? I'm writing an important report for the Ministry, and I'd like to finish it without you two bothering me too many times."

"We just wanted you to take a break and try this. Here."

Percy merely looked at them then at the pastry, unimpressed. "What is it? You two should really find something to–"

Fred cut his off by shoving the Sweet into his brother's mouth unceremoniously.

Percy choked a little, looked at the twins and read eagerness in their eyes, brought his hand to his mouth, hiccupped, and ran away, looking greenish.

The twins secretely high-fived before following their unfortunate brother to the bathroom, their face concerned and sympathethic.

"Poor Percy got ill."

"That's the proof that working too much damages you."

"We'd warned you."

They shook their heads sighing.

"Such a bad example for us, young and innocent..."

"Young and innocent? You?" Percy bursted out as he raised his head, his eyes red and watering, his cheeks still pale. "In that case, I wish I'd never been young. Anything such as youth that could link me to you would be an insult. Young, huh? Wasted youth! Indeed–"

Anything else he may have had to say got cut off by him feeling sick again.

The looks on the twins' faces turned sorry for a mere moment as Percy was speaking, but pride filled them when threw up again.

"We'll be–"

"–very successful!" They whispered.

"What was that anyway?" he asked once he finished and noticed the twins were still there.

"A little of this, a little of that, you know. And, hadn't you a report to finish?"

"You should definitely do it, Perce."

* * *

 **A/N Written for the Golden Snitch forum. Prompt: (insult) youth. WC = 522**


	16. Do the washing (Jily)

Summary: Muggle!AU in which Lily shows James how to do the washing.

* * *

Moving in with James had been more natural than Lily would have ever thought; especially considering how crazy it had seemed at the beginning—and that's leaving aside those years at Hogwarts when she had hated him and when the mere idea of being in the same castle was revolting.

Sure, living together had been rather catastrophic at the beginning. Lily had to teach him… well, everything!

What she hadn't expected was the way James managed to make things special and surprising. Like when she had first yelled at him—she had yelled at him many times before but this was different because they were at home, their home—for something she couldn't even remember anymore. She remembered him though; and his reaction to it.

"I'm starving," he had said simply, and she had thought he was dismissing her. "Let's go to our kitchen and see what we can cook." Then he had smiled, and all Lily could remember was that he had tried, he had included himself when he had said, "we can cook."

He had been trying to become more responsible since then.

"Come on, James. Today I'll show you how to do the washing!"

James raised an eyebrow, and Lily knew he was thinking of the first time he had done the dishes, tidied up, made the bed. It hadn't immediately gone well but he had learned.

"First of all," she said putting a basket full of clothes in front of him. "Dirty clothes."

"I know what it is for."

"Really? I couldn't be sure. I always find your dirty clothes balled up and shoved at the end of the bed. Each time it's a scavenger hunt."

She dragged James into the bedroom where a bit of cloth was indeed visible from under the covers.

"Err." He went and grabbed it, pushing it into the basket as Lily was smiling up her sleeve. "Alright. So… I just toss them into the washing machine? And I'm done?" James said, changing the subject. "Easy," he grinned.

Lily snorted. "And that's why we're here. You can't mix them all together. You must divide them based on their colors. Let's say, you can't take a pink shirt and just wash it with white ones…"

"But we don't have any pink shirt. Do you want me to buy one for you? I thought you said pink doesn't suit you? I mean, I'm assuming it'd be not for me."

She smacked his head as she tried to hide her exasperated smile at her husband's antics. Why did she need to know how to do the washing up again?

"It was just an example, you idiot."

James glared at her and quietly rubbed his head. "I would have understood even if you hadn't made that stupid example. How is a poor husband supposed to know what his wife is thinking?"

She sighed. "Well, now try your hardest to understand me because we still have to talk about fabrics and detergents."

"Lily," James complained. "This is just seedy."

"And if there is a grease stain, you have to pre-treat it if you want the cloth to be perfectly clean when you get it out the washing machine. See? Like that," she said grabbing the stain remover.

James yawned. Then, "Hey, are those bubbles?" And he blew.

"JAMES!"

* * *

A/N written for the Golden Snitch forum. Prompt: (action) cleaning. WC: 549


	17. Godfather (Lily Sirius James)

**Summary: Lily asks Sirius to be Harry's godfather**

* * *

Sirius spotted Lily as soon as he arrived. She was lying on a lawn chair in the shade of a big tree and caressing her big—seven-month Sirius reckoned—belly.

He was glad to see her relaxing.

"Hi, Lily. I'm sorry for the delay."

"Sirius!" She smiled. "Don't worry. James is still at work. He should be back in…" She checked her clock. "In 20 minutes, I'd say."

"How are you and little—"

"Harry," she cut him off, looking at her belly with love.

"Harry? How do you know it's a boy? What if it's a girl?"

"Oh, a mother always knows."

Sirius looked at the belly and said, "Did you hear, little one? I hope you're a boy. You don't want to disappoint your mummy, do you? I know I wouldn't."

"Sirius," she scolded. "Don't scare my baby. He won't come out if you say those terrible things!"

"Nah, as if he would listen to me."

"He likes you, you know?" she said softly.

"Another thing a mother knows?" Sirius wasn't sure he'd like where this conversation was going.

"Sort of. This has nothing to do with my sixth sense. It's… It's Harry. I feel him move and kick in happiness whenever you're here."

Sirius smiled widely but averted his eyes.

"He's doing it even now," Lily said. "Would you like to feel it?"

"What? No! I mean, thank you, that's nice of you. Really! But…" He looked at her. "There's no need."

"Don't be stupid! You just need to put your hand on my belly. Why should it be so awkward? You always flirt with me when James is around?" Lily was barely containing her laughter.

"I'm not being stupid. That… that thing… it's not for me, that's all. I'm not a sentimental person."

"BLACK! You'll put that hand of yours on my belly. NOW!"

He glared at her before agreeing and carefully raising his hand. "Hey, it—I mean, he's kicking."

"Really? Wow, that's new," she teased. "Well, Sirius, this is Harry. And, Harry, honey, this is Sirius, your parents' best friend, Marauder, brilliant wizard and… your Godfather." She looked at Sirius hopefully.

He stared at the belly for one moment before lifting his gaze to meet hers. "Did you just say… Godfather? And you want me to—" He stopped.

"Yes, we do. James and I talked, and we both agree—not that we needed to; you're the only person we'd consider for this." Her voice was steady, her eyes bright.

"I'd be honored, I'd be happy to be Harry's Godfather!" He hugged and lifted her, kissing her forehead.

"Lily, Sirius, I'm home. Where are you?" came James' voice from the open window of the living room.

"In the garden, darling," she called as Sirius was still too happy to speak. His arm was around her shoulder.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" James said. "Why that goofy smile, Sirius?"

"Before you assume anything, let me explain. I heard nothing, saw nothing, did nothing." Sirius pulled Lily closer.

"Yeah, sure. I bet you aren't even here. What happened? Why is he smiling like an idiot—more than usual anyway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Lily shrugged.

"I swear… Lily! You asked him that thing, didn't you? Without me? Sirius?"

"I saw nothing, I heard nothing," she said.

"I won't tell, I'm not a snitch," was Sirius' cheeky reply as he winked at Lily.

"What's this, the mafia?" James complained.

"I guess that's right," Sirius said triumphantly, "And I'm the Godfather! I'm the Godfather, Prongs!"

* * *

 **Written for the Golden Snitch forum. Prompt: "I won't tell, I'm not a snitch!" / "What's this, the mafia?" Word count: 592**


	18. The Slytherin Knitting Club (James&Siriu

**Summary:**  
 **"Vote for the Slytherin Knitting Club!" or the story where James and Sirius can talk their way out of anything. McGonagall is not impressed.**

* * *

"Hogwarts needs more clubs! Vote for the Slytherin Knitting Club!"

This green and silver announce flashed in the Great Hall while a voice shouted it loud enough to be heard everywhere in the castle. It had started just before dawn, and the Professors had reunited all the students to finde the responsibles.

Dumbledore was sitting at his usual place, carelessly yet intently buttering his toast as if it was the most interesting and complicated thing in the world. On his right, McGonagall was fuming, her eyes scanning the Gryffindor table where, sure enough, two of the four boys she was looking for had grins that were a bit wider and more triumphant than they should be coming from innocent people.

"Potter! Black!" she said as she got up.

"Yes, Professor?" Black's voice was sweet and concerned. "Is there anything we can help you with?"

"Indeed. You could come with me to my office. Now!"

"Anytime, my dear Professor. Anytime." Potter smiled. "After you, please," he said bowing.

"I think it'd be better if you two go ahead. I fear you know the way all too well," the Professor sighed.

.

"You'd better have a good explanation for what happened!"

"Have you heard, Prongs? They just assumed it was us," Black said.

"I guess they don't know. It's a very ancient legend, after all." Potter shrugged.

"What are you talking about," McGonagall asked despite knowing better than humor them.

"Well, Professor," Black started.

"You know that Hogawrts was founded a thousand years ago by four witches and wizards," Potter continued.

"It all started back then when Hogwarts was a mere castle and not a school yet."

"The Founders were bored, especially—"

"—Godric Gryffindor, who bravely was the first to complain about it." Black smirked.

" _That's true, my dear friend_ , said Helga Hufflepuff. _Even I got bored as Sir Salazar transfigured my knitting needles into two cobra._ She looked pointedly at said Lord—"

"—who merely stared at her, replying, _I was boring and needed some companions_ _. You can't deny it was fun."_

" _You'all actually find that I can_ " said Potter in a high-pitched voice to mimic Hufflepuff's one.

" _A duel!_ Godric proposed then. _You two should duel! Just think, the victory, the glory!_ "

" _Please, someone make him stop_ , complained Rowena Ravenclaw, feeling she needed to say something if whe wanted to be remembered as the cleverest one."

"It didn't work, did it, Prongs?" Black interrupted their little play.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black," McGonagall said, rubbing her temples. "Is there any chance you'll stop your joke any time soon?" She had actually been enjoying it and their verve, but she couldn't admit it.

"Actually, that was barely the Prologue."

"But I guess we can skip the first—"

"—the second—"

"—the third—"

"Stop," McGonagall cut them off. "I got it. You two can count. Surprisingly."

"—and the fourth Act," Potter finished, as he winked at Black.

"Let's go straight to the conclusions, then."

"Yes, and the bottom line is, never transfigure Helga's knitting needles or it'll come back to you."

"Wait, are you seriously trying to defend yourself with this ridicolous story?" the Professor asked.

"Siriusly and Jamesly," they grinned. Then they bowed and took their leave taking advantage of her shock.

"You know where to find us—" Black said.

"In case you need us." Potter waved.

The door closed.

* * *

 **Forum: The Golden Snitch  
**

 **Prompt:** **"Hogwarts needs more clubs! Vote for the Slytherin Knitting Club!"**

 **WC: 570**


	19. Astoria's sorting

**Summary: Astoria Greengrass' sorting**

* * *

Astoria nervously sat down on the stool, unable to prevent the grimace on her face when the Professor put on her shiny hair that old, disgusting Hat.

 _"Don't worry. It's not like I fancy staying on your head longer than I need."_

The foreign voice sounded annoyed. Fortunately, Daphne had explained how the sorting happened. Astoria couldn't help but glanced at her sister proudly sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by the only people that understood—and in fact were—their world: Theo, Pansy, Malfoy... Her sister wouldn't stop talking about them, and they now were waiting for her sorting almost expectantly. She was required to sort of close the loop, she knew it, she felt it.

She only caught words here and there from the Hat now; they were all blurred and before she managed to decipher any of them—

 _"...clever... ambitious... very..."_

—the Hat announced, its voice clear and loud, _"Slytherin."_

Astoria eagerly got rid of the thing, releasing a little sigh of relief as she headed towards the table of her House—it felt so good to think of it, _her House. She was a Slytherin now._

She scanned the table again and noticed Daphne clapping and grinning. There was an empty seat beside her just as they had decided on the Hogwarts Express, so Astoria could sit next to her sister.

"I'm proud of you, my dear sister," Daphne whispered.

Astoria smiled at her then looked at her other housemates as the Sorting went on.

She heard Malfoy swearing when a boy was sorted into Hufflepuff, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"Are you Daphne's sister?" he briskly asked, yet his voice was still silky somehow.

Astoria stared at his blond hair desperately trying to answer with more than a nod.

"Isn't she lovely, _Malfoy_?" her sister's voice interrupted her confused thoughts, fortunately. Astoria guessed her protective tone was enough to make Malfoy—and anyone else—back away for now, but she felt Daphne's arm circling her arm too. Astoria inwardly rolled her eyes.

Malfoy merely shrugged and turned to speak to a dark-skinned boy about Quidditch and broomsticks.

"Don't mind him," Pansy said. "He's actually very shy. I should know," she lowered her voice, leaning forwards. "I've been trying to have him admit some sort of feelings but he's too reserved to act upon them, even if we both know they're there." She winked.

Astoria listened to her with wide eyes, not quite knowing whther she should laugh or comfort her sister's friend, when she felt Daphne sniggering—clearly having heard everything—and squeezing her shoulder lightly.

Astoria smiled—a sympathetic one—at Pansy who was seemingly waiting for an answer, and that seems enough to please her, then she watched between her sister and the Malfoy heir once again, only to find him peeking at herself from time to time, something similar to gentle interest in his eyes. She didn't know what to do with that.

 _Will you marry me?_ she playfully thought. Her mother insisted on the need to find a proper, good, pureblood husband, and Astoria wanted to know what it could feel like.

Malfoy smiled and looked at her again.

She quickly averted her eyes.

When she looked at him again, he was flirting with another girl.

* * *

 **A/N Written for the Golden Snitch forum for the challenge: Prompt of the day. Prompt: (character) Astoria.  
**

 **WC:567**

 **School: Beauxbatons. House: Melusine**


	20. Nothing red (Scorpius Astoria Draco)

**Summary: in which six-year-old Scorpius refuses to eat anything red.  
**

* * *

"No, no, NO!" Scorpius was screaming. " I don't want tomato, I won't eat that." He pouted.

Astoria sighed. "Honey, be reasonable and eat what's on your plate, please. We've already dealt with it."

"Mum, no!" the child kept being stubborn.

Astoria didn't know what to do. She needed to get ready to go out, her husband was still busy with some paper, and Scorpius needed to eat and go and take his nap. The last thing she needed was a headache. And to be quite honest, denying her son something had always been hard for her.

"Scorpius be a good boy for me?" It was more of a question than a demand, and judging from Scorpius' mischievous expression, her son—who she couldn't deny was pretty smart—had noticed too.

"But, mum... Have you looked at it? It's—"

Astoria decided to prevent any further complaints. "I know, I know. It's disgusting and horrible, and you don't want it. How about you eat it, and I'll give you chocolate?"

"Chocolate? Really?" His eyes shone, and he picked up his fork, temptatively using it to move the red food on his plate. Then he stabbed a slice of tomato.

Astoria watched with bated breath.

Scorpius tightened his grip on the fork and closed his eyes, opening his little mouth... But in the end he set the utensil down. "I can't," he whispered, suddenly looking more calm and mature than before.

"Is something wrong, honey?" Now she was gorwing concerned and hoped Draco was here. She was almost about to send some Elf to call him but she didn't want to bother him unless she was sure it was important. "You know vegetables are important and healthy to eat. I can't understand your tantrum."

"What are you wearing tonight?" the child suddenly asked.

"That's not the point." Astoria tried to look stern.

"Please?"

"Why do you have to be so adorable, you little devil?" She ruffled his hair, making him laugh. "Alright. I was thinking to wear that emerald dress you and your dad love so much. Happy? Now eat, please!"

If possible, Scorpius looked even more miserable, but picked his forked again, re-stabbed a slice of tomato, and shoved it into his mouth, a grimace on his face.

"Scorpius, Astoria!" Draco's gleeful voice came. "There you are." He kissed his wife tenderly on her cheek and his son on his head.

Scorpius quickly spat whatever was in his mouth and looked happily at his father. "Dad!"

Draco smiled.

"Save me, Dad! She's being mean"

"What's going on?" Draco was confused.

"He refuses to eat his vegetables," Astoria informed him. "It's the first time."

"Scorpius?" Draco questioned his son.

" Yes, that's true, but—"

"I hoped you knew eating vegetables will amke you grow tall and strong," Draco said, trying to be convincing. "Like me!" he stated, winking. "And like your mother," he quickly added when she she playfully slapped his head for being so vain.

"Mum, tell him what you'll be wearing—"

"Ah, no! Not again," Astoria complained. "I'll be late. Please, Draco, do me a favor; stay with him until he eats?"

"I can't." Scorpius tone was whiny now. "Itsred," he whispered.

"What?"

"It's red. You both love green, and this is red, and you told me, green tomato are bad, but red tomatoes can be eaten, but..."

"What?

"Tomatoes are against our family," Scorpius explained.

"Well," Draco began, looking very proud. "That's a wonderful Heir! The best!"

This only gained him another swat from Astoria who blamed him for everything she had endured until that moment.

"Draco Malfoy, beware," she warned before disappearing. "And you'd better buy me something red—and beautiful—soon. Is that clear?"

Draco looked at his son, "You and I, my dear son, are in trouble!"

* * *

 **Written for the Golden Snitch forum, for the prompt of the day challenge. Prompt: (food) tomato**

 **WC: 647**


	21. On a deserted island (Romione)

**A/N  
** **Written for two challenges on the Golden Snitch forum:**

 **-the Character Admiration Tournament, Team Light. Task: Ronald Weasley is shipwrecked on a deserted island.**

 **-the Prompt of the Day. Prompt: (object) necklace  
**

 **For the purpose of the main Task (the shipwrecking) let's pretend this is a muggle!AU ;)  
**

 **WC: 741**

* * *

Ron regained consciousness, opened his eyes, and started spitting and coughing savagely. He didn't make any effort to look at anything for he was not sure to be able to see anything; his head was thumping and an odd fog still filled his eyes. His clothes were soaking wet.

Oxygen.

Air.

He needed oxygen!

He desperately tried to keep air flowing into his lungs as he kept coughing. But he couldn't feel it... He felt no benefit from it! He felt nothing, really.

His heart was racing, hurting his ribcage and deafening him. All he could hear was that loud _thump_ , _thump_ , _thump._

He brought his hands to his throat that felt like it was burning. He barely recognized his skin, covered with sweat and sharp saltiness. Maybe he could still feel something, but he needed to calm down.

He was in a pitiful state, he knew it.

He didn't understand... where he was... what was going on...

He forced himself to blink and relax.

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out._

This time, it was going better.

 _Keep like that, Ron. Calm down_. He blinked, and he could swear there were two figures in fron of him—his best friends, but the voice was definitely Hermione's, he realized with a little smirk; it was laced with fondness but he could still hear a bit of condescension that didn't bother him anymore. He loved her just the way she were.

And honestly, he wouldn't have minded having Harry and Hermione by his side. Together. As always.

As soon as he blinked again, and the fog left his vision, the apparitions were gone, and he found himself alone.

Now, everything was clearer. He could feel the sand, the air filling his lungs, his heartbeat slowing down, and the pain in his right arm that was bleeding.

Things were starting to make sense in his mind too.

 _The plane... had crashed._

Ron ran his hand through his hair that were full of sand.

He looked around and suddenly he spotted something glittering: Hermione's necklace.

 _Hermione!_ he furiously thought.

They had been together on that bloody plane.

Where was she?

He slowly stood up, feeling his body tremble and his head twirling.

He needed to find her.

Was she alive? Or was she, he gulped, dead?

"HERMIONE!" he called, hoping she would answer.

 _That is, assuming she's on this island_ , he reminded himself. _Alive_ , the last word thundered menacingly in his head.

He tightened his grip on her necklace.

"HERMIONE! WHERE ARE YOU?"

No one answered.

He could only hear the wind, the waves crashing against the shore, the birds singing, and his own panting.

He felt in a dream—a nightmare—where everything was confused, odd. Even his own body felt foreign sometimes as he kept walking.

Wandering around wasn't a good idea at all. But he needed to find his Hermione.

Only then, he realized how tired, how terribly tired he was.

He yawned.

Closing his eyes and falling asleep would have been so easy. So easy...

He stumbled, and the necklace fell.

He quickly picked it up.

 _Hermione. Hermione. Hermione._

He needed to keep going.

For her.

He should have saved her. He should save her

He forced himself to walk faster, ignoring the pain, the hunger, the thirst.

There was something he had never said to her, and he needed to.

"Hermione!"

"Ron?"

He was too dizzy to understand where that voice came from and startled, he turned around.

Maybe he had just dreamed.

Suddenly, something crashed him making him fall on the ground. He instinctively closed his eyes, biting back a cry of pain.

"I can't believe it. You are here," Hermione's voice whispered, her body pressed against his in a tangle of limbs. "I thought..."

"I'm sorry." Ron moved them so that his back was now leaned against a tree and Hermione in his lap. "Me too. How are you?"

"I'm fine now that you are here. You?"

"Me too. Me too."

Hermione smiled.

"I love you," he said out of nowhere. "I should have said it sooner. I don't know why I waited so much. I feared—"

"Hush." She kissed him.

"Marry me!"

"What? Ron, we are on a desert island," she said as if he could have missed it.

"So what?"

She looked at him. Then, she laughed, a fondly one. "Yeah, so what?"

* * *

 **Err, sorry, but I realized I really didn't know how to end this, and I don't feel like expanding on this right now. But I guess I'd go down with two scenarios: either they're found and saved or they peacefully live there (I don't feel like dealing with cannibalistic tribes either :P). So this is the end for now.  
**


	22. Where's your towel? (Romione)

**Let's pretend Hermione is a guest at The Burrow while the Aurors search for her parents in Australia. A collision with Ron is inevitable!**

* * *

Hermione entered the kitchen where she found Mrs. Weasley and a huge basket filled with freshly washed clothes and other stuff.

"Good morning, Molly," she greeted. "May I help you?"

"Oh, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile as she waved her wand to finish folding the last towel. "Would you kindly bring this—" She gestured at the pile in front of her. "—in the cabinet in the bathroom upstairs? You know, the one near the shower. The boys are playing in the garden and they'll soon need a good shower. I'd rather them know where to find the towels than having them wandering around half-naked and dripping while calling for me at the top of their lungs."

Hermione laughed, then she extended her arms for Molly who handed her the folded towels. "Sure. We'd definitely better prevent that." She was grinning.

"Thank you, my dear," Mrs. Weasley said turning her attention to her chores again.

.

Balancing the pile of towels, Hermione opened the door of the bathroom and slipped in, walking towards the shower.

Suddenly a wet hand popped up out of nowhere, trying to reach the cabinet. A red head followed.

In her surprise, she dropped the towels and her mouth opened. She quickly recovered and promptly smacked the arms in front of her, its owner clearly having not noticed her presence yet.

"Ouch," he said.

"Ronald! What are you doing?"

"I was—" He looked at her. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Your mother asked me to bring the towels—wait, what do you think you are doing?" she asked as he was moving to get out of the shower.

"I need a towel, obviously. So where is it?"

"W-what? And I warn you, Ronald Weasley! Stay in that shower or you won't like the results!" she said putting her hands on her hips and wondering why she couldn't just leave that darn bathroom.

"Listen, I'm wet and freezing so I need a towel—And by the way, it's you who entered while I was showering, so..."

 _Merlin, does she really need to argue evn now?_ Hermione tossed him a random one wishing to wipe that grin off his face.

"This is Gin's," Ron said disgusted dropping the towel as if it had burned him.

"For Merlin's sake." She was growing frustrated. "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin!"

"It's—yuck, I can't even say it—it's pink!" he went on.

"Ron," she warned.

"Where is mine?"

"Where is—where's your towel? Are you serious? You're wet, we shouldn't be here, you have a towel at your feet—a freshly washed one, I might add—and you dare ask me... How am I supposed to know? Listen, I'm done. You are the worst—"

She stopped as she felt his lips on hers.

She looked up, and furiously muttering, "He's eighteen years old and still knows nothing about locking a door. How did he even graduated?" she stormed out, stubbornly refusing to deal with the bigger matter.

.

Ron stared after her, his ears reddening, a question stuck in his head: _What the hell just happened?_

* * *

 **Ok,** **this is most certainly AU and the character may be OOC, but I hope you enjoyed :)**

 **Written for the Prompt of the Day challenge on the Golden Snitch forum. Today prompt: (dialogue) "Where's your towel?" Word count: 529**


	23. Thank you (Modesty Rabnott)

**Summary: Modesty Rabnott tries to save some birdies, is saved by one and finally ends up saving the Snidget*.**

 **Tissue warning, I guess.**

* * *

"Thank you."

 _What are you thanking me for, little human? For being alive? Because of me? There's no need of it; I just chose to die while being useful to someone else. My life had become a wast lately, since I saw my nest destroyed and my little birdies killed off. Since I tried to make them move and sing, and they stayed still and silent.  
_

 _In that moment, I realized they would never fly, never greet the rising sun._

 _My life had just become worthless._

 _Why should you thank me for ending it by saving yours?_

 _You tried to protect them, little human. To save my birdies, I know. You ultimately failed, but you tried, and that's more than I could ever ask for. Not everyone was gentle to you and appreciated your effort. Some pecked your fingers, didn't they? You could have crushed them then, but you didn't. Maybe you were not bothered, maybe you understood they were not really meaning to hurt you; they just wanted to cling to life in the only way they knew. Or maybe you thought they were thanking you. I can tell you now, they did.  
_

 _Your parents called for you, told you to_ leave those creatures that carried who knows how many diseases alone _, but you didn't.  
_

 _I'll never forget that, little human; I'll never forget your kindness._

 _So I saved you._

 _I would have liked to see more of you, of your efforts, of your accomplishments._

 _I'm helping you to do just that._

 _Just remember, little human. Remember who saved you because you were not afraid, because you had been kind, because your soul is worth it._

 _Remember._

 _Remember._

 _Goodbye._

"Thank you."

* * *

" _Accio_ Snidget," Modesty whispered, knowing the cheers by the Quidditch fans covering her voice would not stop her magic.

As soon as the soft plumes of the traumatized, trembling bird touched her palm, she delicately closed her fingers around it, safely and lovingly wrapping it, and she started running.

She felt the little heart of the Snidget dangerously pumping against her fingers, so she began to stroke its tiny chest with her thumb as she looked back; the crowd, enraged, had quickly recovered form the surprise and was now chasing after her and her precious charge.

An evil jinx reached her arm; she ignored it and just forced her legs to go faster, pulling up her gown with her free hand. The Anti-Apparition Wards were not that far away.

She was almost there.

Her own heart felt like it would explode out her chest and she tasted something bitter and coppery at the end of her throat, but she focused on her precious charge. She couldn't afford to inadvertently crush it.

She brushed its chest once more to reassure it; its tiny heart seemed quieter now, and that calmed her down.

She unwillingly slowed down.

A heavy hand clasped her shoulder making her scream and turn in fear.

A large, frowned man stood in front of her, his hand reached out, in his dark eyes a demand.

She slowly unwrapped her fingers revealing the Snidget but before the man - or anyone else - could do anything, the bird was gone, swallowed by the blue of the sky.

Modesty sighed in relief.

 _I remember, my little friend. I remember._

* * *

 _ **A/N I don't know where this comes from, apart having written it for the mini-competition on the Golden Snitch forum: y**_ _ **our task is to write a 500–900 word fic featuring Madam Modesty Rabnott, Elfrida Clagg or Bowman Wright.**_

 _ **WC: 548**_

 ** _*Golden Snidgets are small golden birds that were used in Quidditch before Bowman Wright created the Golden Snitch as we know it. In 1269, Modesty Rabnott of Kent summoned the Snidget and to her and during a match and released it. Because of it, she lost her House as she couldn't afford to pay the fine.  
_**


	24. Closer, never close (MerlinViviane)

**~On earth as it is in heaven*~**

* * *

"Here it is! Can you see it?"

Her enthusiastic voice drew Merlin's attention. He slowly stroked his chin and beard as his gaze caressed the line of his pupil's stretched out arm up to her slender, delicate forefinger that was pointing the night sky.

The dark vault of heaven was decorated with countless stars; it looked like some deity had spread them on that surface that had been built for the only purpose to make them stand out. It was the perfect time for an astrology lesson.

Merlin looked at Viviane, her long, fair hair floating in the breeze. He couldn't help but admire her grace; the colors looked brighter on and around her as if her presence could revive anything.

"Master, I found it!" she repeated, her voice like a melody. "Two stars. Close together in the sky." Her finger swung from a point in the sky to another.

Merlin nodded sagely, lifting his gaze towards the sky. "Very well. The kiss—"

"—between Jupiter and Venus," she finished, pride in her voice.

 _—between Merlin and Viviane_ , a sprite in his head said. He merely shook his head to get rid of that inappropriate thought and took the opportunity to brush her arm as he raised his own to show her another set of stars.

.

She embodied any perfection, was the very essence of nature; as strong as the earth, as clear as the water, as burning as the fire, and as elusive as the air. She was everything and nothing, a living enigma. He, the wisest and most powerful wizard, skilled judge of characters, had been unable to shed some light on her mystery.

He had to have her. Even if this would endanger anything he had worked and fought for. Even if this desire would lead him to his end.

It was a lethal game, but he couldn't bring himself to care, he wouldn't give up. Even then, when he clearly felt the evil hand of fate reaching for him, a smile of hers was enough to calm him.

After all, it takes the darkness of the night to let a star shine, and to have the star he knew was inside Viviane, he was more than willing to bear her dark side too.

.

The last things he remembers are her soft hands cupping his face and her silky voice reassuring him, "We're doing things right."

He doesn't see anything right, he doesn't remember anything because each day is the same as the following one. There's no sun here, there's no moon. There's no darkness, so there are no stars. But he can still see them if he concentrates, he can still see _it_ , the kiss between Jupiter and Venus. Now, though, in his foggy prison, where Viviane keeps coming and going, now he understands something important, even vital.

Jupiter and Venus may have been close to a human eye, but they weren't actually. They come clos _er_ —and it's something exceptional from which the whole sky benefits—but never close.

 _"How could a man be trapped forever?"_

 _"The purpose of such a spell?"_

 _"To prevent him from teaching to other Ladies."_

He didn't mind then. He had deemed it flattering, thought it was the moment when two heavenly bodies meet. He didn't realize they can't.

Now he's trapped, forced to relive any and every encounter in the sky; he sees his Lady passing by him without stopping, sees her light growing warmer and brighter before it all fades again, leaving him in wait.

Over and over.

Season after season.

 _On earth as it is in heaven._

* * *

 ** _*This line is taken from the Our Father prayer._**

 ** _Viviane or Nimue or the Lady of the Lake is a controversial character who ultimately esnares and traps Merlin according to the legend_**

 ** _Written, after much thought, for the Character Admiration Tournament on the Golden Snitch forum. Character: Merlin. Task:_** ** _Write about how Astrology effects your characters everyday life._**


	25. Red vs black (SeverusGinny)

**Golden Snitch, Prompt of the Day: "Thank you."**

 **To Jenny (Claude Amelia Song) for being the kind soul she is!**

 **Summary: the first time he saw her red hair, his breath caught in his throat.**

* * *

When he first saw that red hair, his breath caught in his throat. She stood with her back turned to him, and right then, right there, it was like seeing Lily again, when she was eleven, when they had first started Hogwarts, his heart full of hope and dreams—he expertly pushed the thought of all those delusions and shattered dreams to the back of his mind.

 _Lily._

His greatest delight and his greatest sorrow.

Even after the first time, catching a glimpse of that hair—auburn, red, so painfully familiar, _hers_ —made his head turn, unwillingly. He, Severus Snape, couldn't afford to be seen while he eyed the seventh Weasley. Yet, here he was, following her gestures again as she brewed her assigned potion.

Severus sighed.

The hands was definitely not Lily's. They were not as graceful, not as expert. But, the more honest part of his mind told him, they could be. They had the same potential he had seen in Lily's. And he still hoped that they could turn into Lily's.

Every time he caught that beautiful, long, red hair he stupidly hoped another girl would look at him, another set of eyes.

In vain.

Those lively eyes were never green but always hazel. Those freckles never disappeared.

It was Ginny Weasley's face his own black eyes were met with each time.

Oddly enough, the cruel disappointment had slowly faded into a dull pain which he could easily handle, and he was getting used to it, to Miss Weasley having Lily's hair.

.

This was the umpteenth time that Ginny felt his gaze on herself. When she turned, she could see those black, deep orbs quickly changing, turning into something scary and cold. She wasn't sure of it as she never managed to properly catch his eyes, but she was sure—she felt it—that the gaze that he fixed on her was fiery, ardent—almost loving—but whenever she turned, the light faded as if a bucket of water had been thrown on the fire that burnt into his eyes.

When she looked at him, his gaze was stern, stony. Dead.

After some time, looking at those empty eyes became saddening and disappointing; if at any time, there was love in them, Ginny wished—needed—to see it.

She didn't understand—she didn't understand herself, her wishes, his deeds—yet she never stopped staring back at him, searching for answers that she was sure would never come.

For she was a Gryffindor, a student, a Weasley, a blood-traitor... and he was a Slytherin, the Head of the Slytherin House, a Professor, a Death-Eater. And it didn't even matter that she was not a proper Gryffindor—not brave enough to question him—because the true reason of Ginny's confusion was that he seemed to run away from anything.

She had no hope to understand him. How could she when it was clear he started running away long before she came to Hogwarts?

"Miss Weasley." It was his voice.

"Professor."

"What would you be doing here? So close to my office?"

"Thinking."

He raised an eyebrow.

She looked at him; it was as if death and life were contending in those black eyes, too deep to be understood. She thought to spot a question in there though. "Of you," she whispered, mentally reprimanding herself for saying it aloud.

His eyebrow got higher, then something inside him seemed to be shut down. "I recommend you care about your life and nothing else."

"Can't I do anything for you?" She bit her lips.

"No, it's too late for me." His voice was bitter. "Now leave before I give you detention." Then, staring after her as she left, and talking to her red hair, he finally allowed himself to speak those two words that only Lily had ever heard coming from his mouth, "Thank you."


	26. Children's song (Bellatrix Draco Narciss

**The Golden Snitch, Star Gazers Club.** **Beta Draconis (Rabastan):** _ **Write about Draco Malfoy's relationship with his aunts or uncles.**_

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: in which Bellatrix meets Draco and her idea of children's songs shocks Narcissa.**

* * *

"Good morning, Draco," Bellatrix cooed at the baby in her sister's arms, her voice high-pitched and childish. "All things considered, he's rather pretty, a fine heir, indeed—Black and Malfoy blood." She traced a blue vein on his forearm with her finger.

Narcissa trembled slightly but said nothing; she merely tightened her hold on her child who squirmed. _I know, I know, Draco. I'm sorry._

"Yes," Bellatrix said again, unaware of her sister's and nephew's discomfort, "a fine heir. You did a good job, sister." She finally looked up.

"Job? He's not my _job_ , he's my _son_!"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Precisely what I'm talking about." She glanced at Draco's veins again. "It's blue, _pure_." She looked up. Then, "Can I hold him?" she asked innocently, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Narcissa hesitated. She seemed to recognize something vaguely similar to jealousy in her sister's dark eyes, but it was gone in the span of a moment as the older woman waited, her arms outstretched.

"Come on, it's not like I'll have other chances to hold any other baby. Just my little nephew."

Narcissa wanted to believe her, but the thought of what her sister could do—had done to her when they were children—scared her. Yet, this time, the older woman seemed genuinely interested in Draco; maybe she had matured.

Bellatrix pouted.

 _Or maybe not_ , Narcissa dryly thought. Then, against her better judgement, she put her son in her sister's arms—her _only_ sister. Bellatrix was family, she was Draco's aunt, and he had the right to know her. Hoping she had done the right thing by following her heart, she looked at her baby; his lip trembled slightly, but he didn't cry, which made Bellatrix grin and Narcissa feel proud of the two of them.

"Next time, I'll bring Rodolphus along. The man needs to be introduced to his nephew too," Bellatrix said, rocking the precious charge in her arms.

"Really, Bellatrix, I would have never thought—"

"You never had enough imagination, sister. Do you mind if I sing something to him?"

Narcissa almost choked. "Sure." She smiled.

Bellatrix sat and started humming.

 _Five filthy Muggles went walkabout,_

 _One of them was crucio'ed until he faded out.  
_

 _Four filthy Muggles went to the mountain,_

 _One of them drowned in a fountain._

 _Three filthy Muggles went to the sea,_

 _One of them was killed by a banshee._

 _Two filthy Muggles went and had a picnic,  
_

 _One of them begged for his death to be quick._

 _One filthy Muggle was all alone,_

 _It only remained for him to beat his head on a stone._

Draco was motionless and Narcissa hurried to check on him; his eyes were fixed on his aunt's and the ghost of a smile played on his lips. Suddenly, he started gurgling happily and his little hand found Bellatrix's finger.

"Well, that was... interesting!" Narcissa said. "He liked it."

"Of course he did. I loved it too when our grandmother sang it to me. Do you remember it?"

"Sadly, no. I was too little."

"Merlin! I'll teach you. How can you think of raising a child without knowing the right children's songs?"

As Narcissa listened to her, she idly wondered how she had come to the point where she needed her Death Eater, childless sister's advice about babies.


	27. Too late (McGonagall Ginny)

**The Golden Snitch, Ollivander's Wand Shop: 8–9 inch: Write about a Gryffindor character.  
The Golden Snitch, Madame Malkin's Dress Shop: Write about a student who is always late to class.  
** ** **The Golden Snitch, Prompt of the** Day: "greasy hair and shampoo bottles"**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: They all missed the signs and now it's too late: Ginny is doomed**

* * *

In hindsight, Minerva's biggest regret was that the signs had always been there. They were little things, of course, but it was their duty as Professors and — she hoped — mentors to be there for their students and care about their health.

She wasn't so sure about every teacher — maybe Snape, whom she referred to as the "greasy hair and shampoo bottles" potionist in unformal conversations, she didn't count as an abservant mentor when it came to kids, and after all, she refused to believe he had ignored the signs on purpose.

With Ginevra Weasley, something had gone very wrong, Minerva still couldn't tell what, still couldn't understand why none of them had noticed that she wasn't alright. She wasn't even the first Weasley ever come to Hogwarts; in fact, she had been the seventh, and all — _all, every single one!_ — had proved to have the same open and sunny personality — even Percy to some extent.

Nothing to do with Miss Weasley.

 _Nothing._

And while a few — _most_ — of them had showed rebel tendencies, they had always been on time, early even.

Not Ginevra Weasley though.

And Minerva regretted it deeply.

.

 _Knock knock._

 _Minerva sighed. "Enter, Miss Weasley." She didn't even need to look at the door to know it was the little Weasley; the girl was always late and instead of sneaking in, she timidly knocked each time._

 _"My apologies, Professor," she'd say. "I-I don't know what happened, I was so sleepy, like I worked all night long."_

 _Minerva didn't doubt it was the truth_ _— it was written all over her tired and wrinkled face: red eyes, dark circles around them, limp limbs... "MIss Weasley, if you have trouble sleeping, may I suggest you go and see Madam Pomphrey? I'm sure she could give you something_ _—"_

 _"It's fine, Professor. I did sleep. I don't know what happened. I'm just so tired..."_

 _"Well, now sit down, please. After class, I want you to go to the Infirmary."_

 _._

Infirmary? Minerva should have talked with her personally and maybe alert the other Professors and Albus.

Not that they didn't know.

.

 _"Minerva, you must do something about Miss Weasley."_

 _"She's always late."_

 _"I even thought to wait for her to show up before starting as she can't miss half lesson each time, but it wouldn't be fair to the others."_

 _"Last time, she skipped my class entirely,"_

 _Minerva didn't know what to do. "I've spoken with Poppy and she's been dealing with it. It looks like Miss Weasley may be suffering from nostalgia and insomnia. Please, be patient with her."_

 _"It's unacceptable, she doesn't deserve to be here."_

 _That broke Minerva's heart because everyone deserved Hogwarts, no matter what._

 _._

Now, it seemed painfully obvious why Ginny Weasley had always been late, why she skipped classes, why she was always so tired.

It had nothing to do with nostalgia and insomnia.

Minerva looked at her students; worriness was clearly written on their faces and she knew her own eyes betrayed the same feeling. Today, No one would be late and timidly knock on the door after twenty minutes the lesson had started. Today, they wouldn't see Miss Weasley's head drop on the table and her eyes closing as she struggled to take notes.

In fact, Ginevra Weasley might not show up at all ever.

She had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets, and it was all their — Minevra's — fault for missing the signs.

After all, no one was — and had ever been — late at Hogwarts. Who didn't want to learn magic?


	28. (almost) immortal (BaronHelena)

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day - Blinking regularly to prevent dry eyes: Write about a usually emotionless character** **crying for the first time.**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: the first and only time the Bloody Baron cried goes like that.**

* * *

Lady Rowena's quiet sobs still haunted him, even now that he was far away from Hogwarts, even now that he was looking into her daughter's dry, defying eyes.

Despite being notorious for his coldness, he had never hidden his love for the fair Helena. How could he have? He had tried only once, when they were younger and he still had his pride, but it had felt like trapping a storm in a crystal goblet — something inside his heart had cracked irreparably.

Nevertheless, he had always deemed his love desirable to her eyes and, like any other hunter, he had kept pursuing her with Lady Rowena's blessing, only to find out Lady Helena too proud, too disdainful to consider his _supposed_ feelings.

It happened in a moment, a blurred, confusing second.

His hand reached for his dagger, and he found himself plunging it in her body, once, twice, three times — lost in her beautiful eyes that were slowly losing any humanity they might ever have, he stopped counting.

Her blood was gushing, staining his hands and clothes and — he guessed — his face. Something hot and liquid was leaking down from his eyes that burned. It reached his lips, and he unconsciously licked it away — it was salty.

 _Crying._

He was crying.

He didn't remember ever crying, but giving in to it was surprisingly easy and liberating.

He blinked.

Another hot tear fell off his eyelashes, ran down his nose, his cheeks, and his mouth, reaching his chin. Then, slowly, almost indecisively, it rolled down his neck, getting lost in his chest, absorbed by his bloody doublet.

The Baron found it fascinating.

He blinked again, and the fog disappeared as the reality pulled tighter in front of his eyes.

She was lying on the ground, her eyes open and blank.

He stared at them, at all that blood.

When realization hit him, his sobs almost choked him.

This was not supposed to happen.

He loved her more than his own life, never had he implied he loved her more than her life.

He looked at the dagger — it was still sharp — and directed it toward his heart, closing his eyes in a failed attempt to stop the water still filtering through them.


	29. Glasses (Rose Hermione)

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day - Wearing glasses when needed: Write about a character too embarrassed or stubborn to wear their glasses.**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: Rose doesn't like wearing glasses  
**

* * *

It was not supposed to go like that.

Wrinkling her nose, Rose looked at the object on the table, taking in each single awful detail: from the twisted plastic stick that had been designed to be more comfortable around the ears to the thick glasses that protruded from the frames.

She pouted, looking at her mother. "Mum, do you really expect me to wear _those_?"

"Not only do I expect you to wear those, but I expect you to take care of both them and your eyes," was the stern reply.

Rose bowed her head, hiding her stubborn, outraged gaze. Just because she may or may not have failed to mention her vision loss to the point she had completed missed the bludger coming her way until it was too late, it didn't mean she didn't care about her eyes.

Her mother picked up the green and red glasses from the table and gently put them on Rose's nose. "There! Isn't it better."

Suddenly, Rose's vision cleared, and her mother stopped being a bush of hair. "Hm..." She looked around and spotted a fly on the wall. "Not really, no." She refused to let her mum win this.

The glasses made her look like a mouse.

And it was not supposed to go like that!

When she had finally given up and admitted to her parents about her vision loss - after all, there was no other way to explain her broken arm, or they would all think she was clumsy - she had comforted herself thinking of the many people she knew who wore glasses; Uncle Harry looked cooled, her mother looked cleverer, Teddy looked handsome, Aunt Luna looked like a fairy.

It had been a nice thought, but now... _yuck!_

Why did that have to happen to her. _Maybe..._ after all, she had always been renowned for her absentmindedness. She carefully slipped her glasses off.

"Don't even think about it, Rose!" her mother said. "Or I'll use a Permanent Sticking Charm."

 _Bloody hell!_


	30. When she cooks (Tedromeda)

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day -** **Eating carrots, fish, eggs, and other food good for the sight: Write about a character learning how to cook.  
** ** **Ollivander's Wand Shop** \- Write about a Slytherin character.  
Star Gazers - ****Write about Andromeda Black.** **(location) Kitchen,** **(colour) bright pink**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: Andromeda decides it is time to learn how to cook  
**

* * *

Ted entered the kitchen feeling a bit worried about Andromeda; from the room, a weird noise was coming, and he didn't like it at all. Cautiously opening the door, he noticed that the little kitchen was upside down. A little figure, wrapped up in an apron, was bent over the table. He smiled— _his wife_.

"Err, darling, are you sure about it? I mean, trying to learn how to cook? By yourself? Without magic? You know you don't have to. My parents will accept you even if—"

Andromeda rolled her eyes; he had questioned her about it at least ten times now. "I know I don't have to, Ted. But I want to practice so I'll be ready for it." And it was true; she felt better doing something with her own hands. "You are a Muggleborn, and I am your proud wife." She smiled making her husband smile back.

"But still... without magic..."

"Is it really that hard to believe?" She would have never admitted it aloud, but cooking something by herself without any magical help—be it a simple wand or a House Elf—felt right and so un-Black that this transgression and freedom made her dizzy with excitement. "And now that I think of it," she added without waiting for an answer. "What are you doing in here? I told you I wanted it to be a surprise," she said.

"I heard some weird noise," he answered, taking in all the dirty pans and cookbooks and her tainted apron.

"Of course you heard some noise; I'm cooking."

"Yes, yes, you are. Is everything ok?"

"Perfectly!"

"Good, then." He kissed her floury cheek while peeking at the image in the book. "Is this?"

"Yes! Appetizing, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Good!"

"Well, if you're sure you'll be all right..." he said sounding unsure.

"Of course I will. Just trust me. You know without trust our marriage wouldn't work."

Ted laughed and headed towards the door. "If you need me—"

Andromeda rolled her eyes and brandished a pan menacingly. "Go out," she said, half-fondly, half exasperatedly. "This is supposed to be a surprise. And close the door!"

.

After two hours and a half, Ted still had to hear from his wife so he did what he had to do; uncaring she'd hex him for intuding again, he strode towards the kitchen, worried and hungry.

No sound came from the inside.

Bracing himself, he cautiously opened the door and poked his head in.

The scene in front of his eyes almost cracked him up. Flour had landed everywhere, discarded and blackened pans were all over the room, and Andromeda's face—disappointed; red and white from the tomato and the flour—was priceless.

Releasing an amused hiss, he took a step behind to be safer.

Andromeda looked at him, questioningly.

He smiled; as much as he felt sorry for her, she would not lose any of her beauty or talent or brilliance or whatever only because she was not able to cook. It was not important.

"Err..." He wanted to cheer her up, but he couldn't think of anything worth.

His eyes drifted down to the food; it was bright pink—he wrinkled his nose.

"...it doesn't look like that one in your cookbook," he heard himself saying.

 _What? You're hopeless, Ted._

Andromeda gave him the stink eye, and he burst out laughing. Then, thinking better of it, he promptly left the kitchen. She may have tried to cook without magic and failed at it, but she certainly knew how to use a wand, and he didn't like being on the wrong side of it.


	31. The swivel chair (Romione)

**The Golden Snitch,** **World Sight Day - Limiting screen time to no more than a few hours a day: Write about a character trying to use a computer.**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: honestly, Hermione just needed to relax, but Ron found another way to brighten her day.  
**

* * *

Honestly, Hermione, curled up on the couch, a book and a cup of tea in her hands, was just trying to relax.

"Hermioooooooone! It's been doing an odd thing!" Ron called.

She refrained herself from throwing her cup of tea on the floor and got up, annoyed, reaching Ron's office, where her husband was in front of the computer they shared, Arthur's gift. Ron was sitting cross-legged on his swivel chair, and he had his sleeves rolled-up.

"Ron? What are you doing?"

Ron clutched the desk and shoved as hard as he could. The swivel chair started spinning. "It's so fun, I love this c-computer—"

Hermione sighed and waited.

"—only because of this. For the rest, it's useless and annoying. I can't get it to work properly."

"Help me with this, please. I want to join some chat, the hugest that there is."

She looked at him, puzzled. Ron hated any social network, and rightly so—they were full of gossip and nonsense. Plus, he usually didn't like using any computer either; he had read an article which said they were harmful to the children.

And it was a miracle Ron had even managed to turn this computer on.

"But—why?"

"Isn't it obvious, Hermione?" He blinked and grinned. "We got together three years ago, and tomorrow is our anniversary. I want everyone to know how happy and lucky I am." His eyes sparkled.

It took her a few moments to understand his words, but when she finally did, she felt her cheeks growing hot as a smile spread on her face—he was so sweet.

She launched herself at him, causing the swivel chair to lunge back on its rollers and crash into the wall.

They landed on the floor, laughing.

Ron gently brushed his lips against hers as he said, "I love you."

"Love you too!"


	32. Bloody perfection (BellatrixRodolphus)

**The Golden Snitch,** **World Sight Day -** **Going outside and enjoying fresh air: _Write about a character going on a picnic._**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: Bellatrix and Rodolphus go on a picnic, in their own way.  
**

* * *

"Well, honey? Aren't you happy we finally have a day to relax?"

Rodolphus put the picnic basket down and idly looked around, staring at the green hills and blue sky. "Oh, it's wonderful, my darling. I have never seen Hogsmeade from this perspective before." He bared his teeth in a feral grin.

"Right what I told you." A triumphant sneer wormed its way on her face as her voice got even more honeyed if that was possible. She slowly drew closer to Rodolphus, claiming his lips. "The view is spectacular." She clung to his arm, laying her head on his shoulder, her thick hair tickling his neck as her scent reached his nostrils.

Rodolphus sighed. "Yeah, everything is so perfect." His face darkened as he covered his ears with his hands - _darned birds!_ "So bloody beautiful and peaceful and annoying. It'd take some shake, some - "

A huge roar interrupted his words, and the two of them immediately turned to Hogsmeade. A dark, menacing puff of smoke was lingering over it, the sky was red - blood red, the best shade of it - and fearful, hopeless screaming could be heard.

A satisfied smile spread on Bellatrix's and Rodolphus' lips.

Now, everything was truly perfect.

Bellatrix turned to her husband. "I knew it was worth it. The Dark Lord never does things by halves when it comes to rewarding our loyalty."

Rodolphus burst out laughing, a sadistic one, and leaned forward, kissing his wife, as she threw her arms around his neck possessively.

Everything was perfect - the green hills, the chirping birds, the gentle breeze, a romantic picnic to celebrate their anniversary.

And Hogsmeade that burnt in the distance - the best anniversary gift ever.

Everything was perfect _now_.

 _Almost._

Bellatrix mentally cackled and reached for her wand, her lips still captured by Rodolphus.

A moment later, the Dark Mark appeared over their heads.

 _Perfect._


	33. Muggle fashion (NarcissaLucius)

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day -** **Wearing sunglasses to protect eyes from UV rays and thus help prevent cataracts: _Write about a student wearing Muggle fashion at school.  
_ Star Gazers - write about Narcissa, (colour) dark green, (word) romantic, (location) Great Hall**  
 **Madame Malkin's Dress Shop -** ** _Write about a Slytherin student in their last year._**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: Narcissa is staring at Lucius, but this time, Lucius might be staring back  
**

* * *

"Really?"

"I swear! I saw them myself in the broom cupboard."

"It was time. He's been courting her for ages."

"How romantic — Narcissa? Are you all right? You didn't even touch your breakfast."

Narcissa looked at her friends and only then realized she had not been actively contributing to their usual morning gossip. "Yeah, I'm — I was just..." She sighed. "I don't even know. I was just —"

"— eyeing Malfoy again," her friend Iris teased her. "It's the seventh year you do that. Nothing wrong; he's worth it." She winked.

Narcissa blushed and playfully swapped her blunt friend, an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then, she turned serious. "Well, actually —" She leaned forward and her voice became a whisper. "— I have another problem. I let my sister convince me it would be a good idea to... to... _this_." She discreetly looked around and when she was sure everyone else was busy with their breakfast, their friends, or their mail, she undid all the laces and opened her black uniform to reveal a dark green glitter T-shirt under it. She was also wearing dark low-cut jeans and what her sister had called _converse._

"Ooh." Her friends all stared at her, indecipherable expressions on their faces. "That's so much better than our black robes. And what's this?"

"I was wondering when you'd notice — it's called mascara."

Yet again, her friends looked amazed.

"But it's Muggle —" Narcissa said, unsure.

"Who cares? Girls are girls, indipendently on whether they have magic or not!"

"How can you say that? It's very unbecoming of you to forget your privileges like that." Narcissa said, trying her best to look as commanding as her mother.

"Then why are you wearing it?"

"It comes from my sister Andromeda," she said dryly. "She insisted on it, claiming Muggle fashion is the best way to be yourself. You've got a choice of different styles and she's never felt freer — I thought trying it under the uniform would fulfill the promise I made to her."

"Narcissa, you look awesome, but I don't feel it really counts."

"Can we have those too?" Iris said pointing at her _converse_.

"I'll ask Andromeda." Narcissa smiled, her voice softening again.

"So... when are you going to show this to Malfoy?"

"What?"

"You're irresistible. This is your chance! Go for it!"

Narcissa frowned. "Are you really suggesting what I fear you're suggesting?"

"Why, yes, my dear. Of course I am." Iris grinned. "And I bet you put these things on for the same reason. I bet Andromeda knows more than you guess."

Narcissa looked at the Professors, worried. "Doesn't sound like a good idea. What if I get expelled?"

"Nah."

Narcissa shook her head.

"Actually, there might be no need of it. Look!"

Malfoy had been staring at them, his impenetrable silver eyes focused on Narcissa.

"Great. He notices me right when I've been making a fool of myself." Narcissa sighed.

"You worry too much."

"Iris is right, Narcissa."

"I think he likes you too, you know."

Hope entered Narcissa's eyes then. "it's just he's everything a Pureblood girl could ask for."

"I almost envy you. Almost, mind well. But I think I could be content if I could try those shoes; they look so comfortable and soft."

Narcissa laughed. "All right. Let's go."

Iris drew closer to Narcissa and whispered. "You don't need any of it, Narcissa, to be beautiful. I'm sure Malfoy will notice you soon enough, if he hasn't already," she finished, looking in Malfoy's direction.

The dreamy look in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Thank you, Iris."


	34. The Weasleys like Facebook

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day - Talking to friends face to face rather than on phone: _Write about a character using Facebook or another social network._**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: The Weasleys have learned how to use Facebook; Ginny is not impressed.  
**

* * *

"Hermione! Hermione, we need to talk. _Now_!" Ginny demanded as she dragged Hermione away from Ron's hug. "I don't think you two have the right to cuddle while I can't."

"What do you mean?" Ron frowned. "Has Harry done something? He does know not to make you suffer or —"

"Yes, well, that's precisely what I'm talking about!" Ginny huffed. " _Hermione!_ " She repeated as the other girl's lips were brushing against Ron's again.

"Sorry, Ginny!" Hermione had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Honestly, sometimes it's disgusting to see how you two love each other."

"Oh, please, as if you and Harry —" Hermione started.

"Yeah, Harry. You were the one to teach my father and my other brothers how to use Facebook, right?"

"Well, yes. Is something the matter?"

"Actually, yes. They've been harassing my boyfriend since then, threatening him."

Ron and Hermione laughed.

Ginny glared at them, unhappy. "This is not fun. I can't chat my boyfriend or post any picture of the two of us without them commenting."

Another muffled laugh escaped Ron and Hermione.

"Ginny, don't worry. I'm sure it's just that it's a new thing to them, but it'll pass eventually."

"Now, if you excuse us —"

"Oh no, you're not out of trouble yet — neither of you," she added as Ron tried to sneak away.

"Ginny, I'm innocent, I swear," Ron grinned. "I never even knew Facebook existed —"

From Ginny's disbelieving look, it was clear she didn't believe him.

"I swear. Oh, come on," he said at last. "Do you really think I'd ever come close to some _book_ — face or not — willingly."

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Hermione tried her best to look outraged. "I can't believe you faced Voldemort and his Death Eater and were willing to die when you were 11, but you won't deal with your _little_ sister."

"Sorry, Hermione. Even Slughorn was impressed by her, so... yeah."

"You're hopeless, Ron. Isn't he, Hermione?"

"Thank you, Ginny. Ladies," he bowed, "see you later!" And he left them, knowing they would be too busy talking about how bad he was to forget everything about Facebook.

He hadn't though, and he just felt all of this would be a fun post.

Foreseeing all the many _likes_ he'd get, he headed towards his room, satisfied.


	35. She was never wrong (Sirius)

**The Golden Snitch, World Sight Day -** ** _Write about the superstition: 'your face will get stuck like that when the wind blows.'_**

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary: the wind blows; Lily was never wrong.  
**

* * *

The wind blows violently, carrying cries of pain and desperation from one prisoner to another as the stormy sea roars against the cold walls of Azkaban — those same walls that creak and groan but never break down.

Drops of water rhythmically fall on the ground — only sign that the time passes even in here, in this forsaken, cold place — and Sirius can't help but think those are just another way to torture the prisoners.

As if the Dementors weren't enough.

And yet they would be enough, that much is obvious.

It doesn't take the drops to alert their senses.

It doesn't take the unforgiving nature to remind them only desperation and pain can be found here. Those cries could be heard anyway.

Curled up in a corner, Sirius just stares into space, trying to find some shade of color into a sea of grey and black, searching for a glimpse of red, a glimpse of hazel.

His mind wanders — he thinks of James, he thinks of Lily, he thinks of Harry... He thinks of Peter, who betrayed them all.

He thinks of another windy day, when everyone was happy and joyous. And alive.

Sirius hadn't realized back then how soon he would lose his family, and he had foolishly joked and grinned the whole time, making faces at his precious godson to entertain him.

"Be careful. Sirius," Lily had playfully warned him. "Or your face will get stuck like that when the wind will blow."

He had laughed her concern off and worn a twisted expression for ten hours to prove his point.

Now, after two years in Azkaban, he's forced to admit Lily may have been right all along.

The wind blows, cold and violent, and his face is forever frozen into a pained expression.


	36. Volunteer (CharlieTonks)

**The Golden Snitch**

 **-The Great School Bake Off. Banoffe - 1. Banana cake (** _ **Pairing: CharlieTonks**_ **) 2. Dipped in chocolate ganache (** _ **Object: Chocolate Frog card**_ **) 3. Topped with toffee frosting (** _ **Action: drinking coffee**_ **) 4. Toffee drizzle (** _ **Weather: sunny**_ **)**

 **-Madame Malkin's Dress Shop -** _ **Write a story set in Gringotts.**_

 **-Ollivander's Wand Shop - Write about Charlie Weasley.**

 **(Beauxbatons, Melusine)**

 **Summary: there were dragons in Gringotts so if anyone could succeed, it was Charlie**

* * *

The sun seemed to be mocking him as its light trickled down Gringotts dark windows as if to remember him of everything he had left behind.

But it had been his own decision to leave it all behind.

When Kingsley had explained that the Death Eaters would be soon searching for something kept in the wizarding bank — warning the whole Order about the danger of this mission — Charlie had immediately volunteered — there were dragons in Gringotts, so if anyone could succeed, it was him.

The plan was simple: infiltrating the bank and destroying the Death Eaters' vault.

 _Yeah, simple._

Coming back was the hard part, but in the sunlight, he still felt confident enough.

Hidden in the darkest corner of the bank, under many glamours, Charlie waited for the goblins to leave so that he could descend to the vaults more freely.

He looked at his watch then at the sun. It was still early.

Pensively, he reached into his right pocket, closing his hand around the Chocolate Frog card Tonks had gifted him as an apology. He had been quietly drinking his coffee when she had suddenly bumped into him while trying to show some dance move to Lupin. The coffee — still hot — had spilled all over them, and she had started muttering apologies before giving him this card. It was just Dumbledore — he and his brothers had hundreds of him — but that was not why that card meant so much to him. No, it was because it came from _her_.

Volunteering had been easy, he thought as he looked at the goblins walking down the hall, merely inches away from he was hidden. He held his breath and his grips on both his wand and the card tightened.

Knowing it would be a suicidal mission had not stopped him. As soon as Kingsley had mentioned this project, he felt something crack in his heart and he knew it would be up to him — he was the one who had the least to lose after all.

His hand had raised in a heartbeat.

But he couldn't leave without seeing _her_ for the last time.

 _It was just a moment, but for that little time, only they existed. Then the delusion vanished, and he was left with a black and white world, where her colors didn't survive. The light was gone._

 _When he came to his senses again, she was stretching out her hand for him to shake. "Good luck, Charlie."_

" _Goodbye, Tonks."_

 _And just like that, it was over._

 _She turned to Lupin, and watching her interact with the man, Charlie wondered whether this was how she had felt when he had left to go to Romania, to pursue a dream she was not a part of._

Charlie huffed as he peered at the windows — there was still too much light and too many goblins and some wizards around.

He started growing impatient. _The sooner the better_ was his motto, and, he reminded himself with an uncalled sense of optimism, with some luck he would soon have the chance to see a Portuguese Long-Snout for himself — it was one of the few species he had still to study in the flesh.

Too bad it would probably be the last, but, he thought as he was about to leave his hideout, he wouldn't want to live in a world where Tonks wasn't by his side. He missed her already, and he couldn't believe it was possible to drown while on solid ground, yet here he was.

Repressing any other thought, Charlie went deeper and deeper into Gringotts halls, ready to fight.


	37. Scented candles and old books (Padma)

**The Golden Snitch, Diwali -** _(word) sister, (colour) fuchsia, (word) bond, (dialogue) "You are like a brother to me," (word) moon, (word) light, (word) new  
_

 **TGS,** ** **Madame Malkin's Dress Shop -**** ** ** _Write about Padma or Parvati Patil._****

 ** ** **TGS Anniversary Event** , ********_Scavenger hunt, pink, f_**** ** ** _ire_****

 **School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine**

 **Summary:** **several scented candles had been lighted in the Ravenclaw common room.  
**

* * *

Luna had been the first one to notice the negative vibes coming from Padma.

Cho and Marietta had noticed Padma had stopped caring about almost everything, but the more they tried to involve her, the more she seemed to drift away.

Roger was the one who suffered the most from Padma's lack of smiles — or her lack of genuine smiles at least, for she was still able to stretch her lips and let her white teeth glow, but it just wasn't the same.

They were at loss of what to do until someone, like a good Ravenclaw, suggested the library, their safe heaven. Nothing could beat the smell of old books and the rustling of parchment while in distress, so they carefully surrounded Padma and gently pushed her towards the library.

It was just meant to be a way for Padma to relax, and the plan would succeed if they hadn't lost her somewhere between the shelves that contained the books starting with the letter _D_ in the _Muggle Literature_ section.

Searching for their friend soon became one with combing through the titles — a gaze on their left, a gaze on their right, a peek at the titles. It was easier and more natural than breathing.

 _Dew_ _—_

 _Dee_ _—_

 _Di_ _—_

 _Dim_ _—_

 _Diw_ _—_

 _Diwali?_

"Hey, guys! Look at this."

On the front page of the odd book — too new, too little worn-out — was the picture of two Indian girls wearing pink sari's and holding a set of candles as fireworks exploded in the background.

"This one," said Marietta, pointing at one of the girls, "does look a bit like our Padma."

"Yes, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear this is her — or her sister."

Luna took the book from Cho's hands and skimmed through it, muttering, "Festival of lights...moon cycle...family...candles...goddess..." Then she said, "No glass is too obscured that it won't let at least a sun ray shine through it."

Roger peeked at the book too. "This might be right what she needs."

"So let's do it... quickly, we just have a couple of days before — how's the first day called — Dhanteras."

.

Ravenclaw common room was cheerfully colored and shining as if a fire had been started in there — it was bright, luminous, and warm thanks to the scented candles that had been lighted.

On the floor, small footprints had been drawn using rice flour and fuchsia powder to — according to the book — welcome the Goddess.

Sweets and snacks had been prepared with the help of the House Elvees.

Roger was nervously pacing back and forth, rehearsing his speech.

Parvati stood in a corner, a bit uncomfortably but with a secretive smile on her face.

Finally, Padma showed up, her expression confused and blinking several times as she waited for her pupils to get used to the intense, unexpected light.

Cho took the bowl with the rice and let everyone take a handful of it.

Roger, his rice clutched in his hand, cleared his throat a few times and started with his tale.

 _"Once upon a time there was a great warrior, Prince Rama, who had a beautiful wife named Sita._

 _"There was also a terrible demon king, Ravana. He had twenty arms and ten heads, and was feared throughout the land. He wanted to make Sita his wife, and one day he kidnapped her and took her away in his chariot. Clever Sita left a trail of her jewellery for Rama to follow._

 _[...]_

 _"Ever since, people light lamps at Diwali to remember that light triumphs over dark and good triumphs over evil."_

Padma had tears of joy in her eyes. She hurried to hug Roger tightly, careful not to drop her rice. "That was beautiful, thank you." Then she turned to her sister. "Parvati, you're here..."

"Of course I'm here!"

"I — I just thought — you never sent your gift..." Padma looked down.

"What? I did, of corse I did. Wait, is that why you were so depressed lately? I'm so sorry, I had no idea, and I didn't know what to do apart from..." She scanned the room. "Who has my book?"

Cho took it from a shelf. "Is it yours? We found it —"

"— in the library, yes. I bought it and put it there on purpose. I know how much Diwali has always meant to us and I wanted you all to understand us and help Padma feel better. Diwali is a family festival too, and you're Padma's family now, so you're all like sisters to me." She looked at Roger. "Roger, you are like a brother to me too, thank you." She winked.

She squeezed Padma's arm, letting her silently know their bond was stronger than anything, and they drew closer to the others who were about to play the first game — a scavenger hunt.

* * *

 **A/N I cut off the tale because it's not mine and you can find it online.**


	38. Smiles in the Infirmary (Marauders Poppy

**TGS:**

 **-Diwali: Amavasya -** _ **(word) puja, (word) dancing, (character) Remus Lupin, (word) light.  
**_ **-TGS Anniversary Event: Christmas  
-Superstitious Nonsense: **_**Write about a character whose wish comes true.  
**_ **-It's a bit Riddikulus: Face Your Fears** _ **\- Write about Poppy Pomfrey. (word) extreme, (color) turquoise  
**_ **-The Great School Bake-off: 1. Dialogue: "Wait for me!" 2. Object: tea kettle 3. Color: silver 4. Creature: Niffler**

 **Summary: the Marauders decide that the best way to deal with Remus' furry problem is to celebrate Diwali together to remind him they are family**

* * *

Poppy scanned the enlightened Infirmary once more, unconvinced. This couldn't be a good idea. But the three Gryffindors were doing it for their friend, and that was not something she could deny them — not that she'd ever try for she had a soft spot for the gentle boy that was now lying in one of the bed, unaware of the chaos around him thanks to Sleeping Draught.

She had tried to stop them, but they had begged her — extremely serious for probably the first time in their lives — to let them in in the name of friendship, Mr. Black even bowing to her, and she, looking back at the bruised, pale boy, had felt her heart go soft. "All right, but no nonsense. And be grateful there are no other patients today."

They had winked at her then, and she, her heart skipping a beat, had realized they _knew_ about Lupin, about the Infirmary being empty.

" _That's precisely why we are here," they said. "Now…"_

 _Each of them carried some bags and behind them levitated a trunk._

 _Knowing them, Poppy eyed the three boys suspiciously._

" _Oh, that's just Remus' trunk. We thought he might want to change when he wakes up." Mr. Potter shrugged._

" _Listen, you young men; the fact that I allowed you to enter doesn't mean that you can establish your base or secret lair here."_

" _Don't worry, Ma'am," Mr. Black said. "We plan to visit each Professor soon; we don't want to offend anyone."_

" _Yeah, we already have other plans." Mr. Pettigrew timidly smiled, looking at his friends who winked at him._

" _All right! Peter —"_

" _I have the candles and the..._ yuck —" _He wrinkled his nose, disgusted, as he waved what looked like a little silver tea kettle. "— for the puja."_

 _She peered at its content. It was some yellow liquid — definitely not tea. "Do I even want to know?"_

" _I don't think so," Mr. Potter said. "We were horrified when we discovered it, and thought to avoid it, but then we realized that we never do things by halves, so here we are, ready to celebrate a full-scale Diwali."_

 _She had heard of Diwali from previous students, but… "Is Remus, or any of you, a Hindu?"_

" _No, Ma'am, but..." They looked at each other. "Since we discovered his furry little problem we tried to find a way to tell him we know, and he's still our Remus —"_

 _Poppy felt tears prickling her eyes. She rapidly blinked them away._

"— _and this looked the perfect way: light and family."_

 _She smiled and caressed their cheeks, giving up. "Go ahead, the infirmary is yours for the next few hours. Just… don't let anyone know."_

 _She knew this was Lupin's dream_ — _to be accepted_ — _and who was her to prevent it from coming true?_

Now, looking at the boys hopping and dancing around, she knew she had made the right decision — even if she had to prevent herself from frowning whenever they messed the beds up.

Sure, there had been some tears shed when they had confronted their friend about his _furry little problem_ — she smiled remembering the casualness with which they had mentioned it — but now, Lupin's smile was the bigger she had ever seen, his eyes shining as a kid's on Christmas Day. It was evident his heart was happy and at peace.

"Hey, wait for me, Sirius!" he yelled, amused. "You can't eat all that chocolate alone."

Black laughed and shove another chocolate cookie in his mouth, which prompted Lupin to launch at him in mock anger.

"You're such a Choco-Niffler."

"Choco-Niffler?

Watching at the boys' antics, she thought that maybe it was no coincidence that Diwali was celebrated on a full moon, after all.

With a smile, she accepted an odd turquoise cookie from Mr. Pettigrew.


	39. Unicorn (Oliver Wood)

**Summary: Oliver dreams of a unicorn. It's tall, majestic, and… better than Quidditch. Wait, what?**

* * *

Peace.

Calm.

Light.

Oliver didn't understand.

He could have sworn anything around him needed to be frantic and noisy. And maybe even colorful. Yes, he could see himself surrounded by a crowd in Gryffindor colors, cheering and roaring.

And yet, here he was in a beautiful clearing; the birds were tweeting and the sun was shining. A sparrow flew towards him and circled his head three times.

He couldn't but smile. He liked this place, and he would have liked to stay here forever.

Suddenly, an alabaster light drew his attention, and he turned, searching for its source.

A unicorn stood in front of him, tall and majestic. His mantle seemed to be glowing in the morning light, and Oliver found himself smiling.

He took a step forward

The magnificent creature didn't move.

Another step.

Still no move.

The unicorn's eyes - were they turquoise? - fixed on Oliver, a warning in them.

Oliver raised his hand.

The unicorn shook his head and left.

"This must be the best thing since Quidditch," Oliver muttered in awe.

A moment later, he was already slapping himself. Nothing, nothing, could be better than Quidditch. At least, he guessed so.

Quidditch…

He vaguely remembered something…

"Oliver, Oliver!"

Someone was shaking him. "Mphhh…" he groaned. He didn't want to wake up so soon, and his body felt so heavy, and his head hurt.

"Thank goodness, you're fine!" Someone hugged him.

No, he didn't feel fine, but when he tried to say so, his mouth wouldn't move.

Black.

A Bludger.

Flying towards him.

And he had not seen it.

Such ineptitude… He was ashamed of himself.

"Oliver, how are you?"

"Oliver!"

He only wanted them to be quiet. He needed to remember, remember what was so beautiful if he had truly been hit during his first match.

A muffled moan left his lips when someone hugged him again, making his ribs hurt.

Beautiful.

Peace.

He would remember it.

It was important to decide his future career. He liked flying because it made him feel free.

When he had first received his first broom - despite it being cheap and hand-me-down - he had not gotten off it for a whole week, and at night, he slept hugging it.

It couldn't all be in vain.

And he was sure…

"Oliver, wow! Is that a bump on your head or a horn?"

A horn?

Of course, that unicorn that he had spotted in… Where was he? Had it been just a dream. And it had felt so real. It still felt that way.

Someone lifted him up. "Come on, man. You're worse than we thought. You need some stitching."

Yes, yes, he did.

Finally a good idea.

And then, then he would be patched up good as new and be ready to fight again.

Unicorns meant life, after all. And Oliver now knew what to do with his own. "Thank you, my friend," he whispered.

"Oh, you can speak then! No problem, mate. We got your back."

Oliver didn't bother to correct whoever had replied to him and just rested his head on his carrier's shoulder. He had more important things to dwell on.

First of all, he needed a new game strategy. He couldn't afford another fall; that reflected badly on him.

Second, he wanted to be there to celebrate when Gryffindor would win, not stuck in an Infirmary bed.

Third…

He yawned.

Third, he needed sleep, apparently.

 _Oh well!_

* * *

 **The Golden Snitch forum:**

 **-T'is a figure of speech, Best thing since Quidditch**

 **-Sir Nicholas' 525th Death Day Party, Write about a student being injured in sport.**

 **-Ollivander's Wand Shop, Write about a character's encounter with a unicorn.**

 **-It's a bit Riddikulus: Face Your Fears, Write about Oliver Wood. (word) ineptitude, (colour) alabaster, (colour) turquoise.**


End file.
